


morning star

by nuest95s



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Archangel AU, Heavy Angst, Implied Blood and Gore, M/M, Magic, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, gabriel!ong, lucifer!minhyun, slight college au, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-04-25 14:57:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14381058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuest95s/pseuds/nuest95s
Summary: To believe in something destined for destruction was one thing; to love a believer was another. And yet they both ended the same way.prompt: an au in which minhyun is lucifer, and ong is gabriel who struck him down to hell. fast forward to millennia later, and ong finds the exact doppelganger of the fallen angel in his university’s theology class





	1. to the other shore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ these r the only notes on the fic!! so this is my brain baby and i love her. some things to watch out for ~
> 
> one, i took a lot of liberties w the lore and the details and also weather patterns? also i’m not a college student in the slightest so if anything there seems off… also tbh i dont know christianity/the bible that well n i tried my best to make it work with research but if i slip up somewhere that’s why! ALSO ↢ means a flashback and ↣ means a modern scene  
> two, [here's](https://open.spotify.com/user/varsh-bear/playlist/4y8pfUCZ0lYntbT3dhwgnH?si=J8o_n90ISkmewJnvMZCMQg) a playlist for the fic! i kinda made 11 playlists for it bc im dedicated but this is my final working one and i think it fits it really well so listen to it while u read if u want :”)  
> three, to the prompter: thank u for writing a prompt so interesting and good like i was genuinely so excited to write this it’s insane. i don’t know if it’s any good or close to what you wanted (i’m pretty sure it’s not) but i really do hope u like it :)  
> four a huge huge thank u to my beta joanne they did so much for this fic from editing to commenting on the tiniest shit to my huge question list… it’s insane ilusm….  
> five! a couple notes about the fic specifically: ages are all over the place, so ignore those. gabriel is a bit lesser known but his role, as far as i know, is that he’s a messenger so parts of seongwoo stem from this aka his powers and delivery jobs
> 
> chapter titles are from the quote: i come to carry you to the other shore, into eternal darkness, into fire and ice. - dante alighieri, from inferno, canto iii featured in the divine comedy (trans. c.h. sisson)

_if the soul is left in darkness, sins will be committed. the guilty one is not he who commits the sin, but the one who causes the darkness._

_- victor hugo, les miserables_

 

        Seongwoo felt him before he saw him.

        It was a slight shift in the air, the petrichor of early autumn giving way to a sharp metallic scent. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up for a fraction of a second, an almost imperceptible change in the bustling center of campus.

        He was about to be late for his theology class, the only one he was taking this semester. It was a lot easier to balance his jobs that way, and regardless, none of the material was that new. But even as the seconds went by, he couldn’t bring himself to move, an uneasiness burying deep in his gut.

        Seongwoo shook it off, adjusting the strap of his bag as he kept his eyes on the sidewalk. It was probably just paranoia.

        When it came, it was more a bump than a crash, shoulders brushing against each other with an unprecedented force. The touch sent another shock of discomfort through Seongwoo’s bones, and his bag slid off his shoulder and fell to his feet, spilling out his books and notes.

        Seongwoo bent to clean it up, biting his lip to keep from swearing. As he gathered the papers in his hands, he could feel the shadow of the other over him, cold somehow. They didn’t make a move to help him, barely made a move at all—if he hadn’t known better, Seongwoo would’ve thought them a statue.

        But he could feel their gaze— piercing, almost hollowing. He suppressed a shiver and shoved his stuff back into his bag before pulling himself back to his feet. The other moved to leave, and Seongwoo only caught a shadow of his face.

        “Wait!” he blurted, and bit his tongue from regret. The man froze before turning to face him.

        Seongwoo knew beauty. It was a side effect of his job, of his life. He knew opulence, knew what it was like to be cultivated to achieve perfection, knew what it was like to achieve it.

        The man—almost a boy but not quite—was beautiful. It was the first thing Seongwoo realized, popping in his chest like bubblegum. He seemed carved from marble, ink black hair obscuring his eyes as the wind blew it from side to side. But he could make out glimpses of his gaze—it was as cold as it had been before, but there was a melancholy to it that unsettled him.

        The stranger pulled his coat tighter around him, and tilted his head, offering a better view of his face. It was all fine boned features and pale skin, alien and yet familiar at the same time. “What?”

        Seongwoo straightened himself up to his full height and cleared his throat. But his voice was still unsure when he spoke, fingers fidgeting with the strap of his bag. “Do I… do we know each other?”

        He frowned, but said nothing, scanning Seongwoo’s face with an increasing intensity. Then, without another word, he pushed past, disappearing into the crowd.

        Seongwoo opened his mouth to call out again, but the mass had swallowed him up, the only remnant of his presence a fading but acrid smell of smoke in the air. He scowled at the place where he’d once stood, trying to suppress the growing uneasiness building in his chest. “Rude.”

        His phone buzzed. _Theology class at 10 AM._

It was 10:20 now, and Seongwoo pinched the bridge of his nose from frustration.

        By the time he got to the class, the tutor was starting through attendance, a couple names from the beginning. Seongwoo’s heart shuddered once from relief, and he threw himself into the closest seat, a couple rows from the back.

        “Go Euntae. Hong Seungmin,” he droned, scanning the list of names on his laptop. “Hwang Minhyun.”

        Seongwoo’s stomach bottomed out, unease giving way to alarms going off in his mind. The name pulsed at him— _Hwang Minhyun, Hwang Minhyun, Hwang Minhyun._ It was unbearably familiar, yet he couldn’t explain it away, couldn’t find a reason for the fear, the regret, the _shame_ wrapping around his heart.

        “Present.” The voice came from two rows in front of him, directly in his eye of sight. Seongwoo was calmer now, even with his heart threatening to beat out of his ribcage, and he tried to take him in as best he could.

        His voice was smooth, quiet but not small. It was the quiet of someone who knew everyone would hear him regardless, would strain to hear him. He was tall, thin but not frail. His shoulders were unnecessarily broad, and his coat fit him well, the quality obviously nice. Perhaps he was rich—a model, an actor, someone he’d seen on television late at night and developed a liking for. His posture was good, but there was something haughty, almost challenging about his stance that unnerved him further.

        Then he sat back down, the dimness of the lecture hall pulling him back into shadow. A few moments later, almost as if he knew he was watching, he glanced over his shoulder, catching Seongwoo’s gaze. There was nothing in his eyes, at least nothing perceptible. Yet even from feet away, Seongwoo could feel the intensity behind that gaze, raising hairs on the back of his neck. The air was clean, but all he could smell was smoke.

        “Na Sojung. Noh Taehyun. Ong Seongwoo.” The tutor paused, and Seongwoo pulled himself to his feet.

        “Present,” he said, facing forward but with his eyes on the other man, _Minhyun._ He didn’t react at first, typing furiously on his laptop. But at Seongwoo’s voice, he flinched, a shadow of a spasm running through his body. Seongwoo wouldn’t have caught it if he wasn’t who he was, barely caught it otherwise, but his lungs emptied at the sight for a reason beyond his knowledge.

        The professor spoke, but the sound was muffled when it reached Seongwoo, as though he was underwater. “I haven’t prepared anything for this class, so we’re going to do an icebreaker activity. I’ve paired you up with a random student, and you’ll complete a quiz on diversity in theology with them. There will be no switching of pairs.”

        Seongwoo knew it was coming before it did, a knack of his that had done absolutely nothing for him in the past. Sensing danger was only helpful when one was willing to run away.

        “Hwang Minhyun and Ong Seongwoo.”

        God was so predictable, Seongwoo found. Fate always spun things into the most interesting sequence; tangled strings to create a masterpiece that rarely brought anything other than agony.

        He pitied mortals, sometimes.

        Seongwoo stretched his arms before getting to his feet, shaking out his limbs. Minhyun was an enigma of sorts. Dangerous, but interesting all the same. It’d been a long time since anything in this world had made Seongwoo excited.

        He blinked—when he opened his eyes, Minhyun was standing at his side, a couple feet off. It would’ve looked like apprehension coming from anyone else, but this close, this composed, Seongwoo could tell that he wasn’t one to hold back for another’s comfort.

        “Your name?” Seongwoo asked, because he wanted to hear him say it.

        “Minhyun,” he said, voice not cold as much as it was smooth, quiet and impassive like he knew something Seongwoo didn’t.

        Seongwoo tilted his head, picking at a belt loop with one hand as the other carded through his hair. The rest of the students were moving around, a chatter beginning to build in the background. “I used to know a Minhyun.”

        Minhyun didn’t flinch this time, not like he did before. Instead, he just nodded carefully, taking another step forward. There was a challenge in that too, a hidden provocation. “So you did.”

        They stood like that for a moment, tension hanging in the air. It wasn’t unpleasant, nor was it unfamiliar. It was the tension that built seconds after meeting someone, the moment before one backed down reluctantly.

        Minhyun wasn’t backing down.

        “We should get started on the quiz,” he said after the moment passed. He watched him with veiled curiosity, boredom dripping from his voice.

        “Yeah,” Seongwoo said, and the letters ran together. It sounded like an exhale, like he’d held his breath for minutes. “You’re right.”

        Minhyun smiled, then, but it was little more than a curve of his lips and a flash of white teeth, and the sight clenched Seongwoo’s chest uncomfortably. His teeth weren’t noticeably sharp, yet his smile reminded him of a shark’s grin.

        He took a seat beside Seongwoo, turning on his laptop without another word. He glanced upward every few seconds, copying the web address on the board at the head of the room into the browser. After a minute, Seongwoo sank back into his own seat, and readjusted himself so that he could see Minhyun’s screen.

        Minhyun glanced over at him, and his gaze was doubly intense up close, burning into the side of his head before he slid his eyes back towards the screen. It was an easy enough quiz, basic theology questions that Seongwoo knew off the top of his head. But he hadn’t expected Minhyun to know the questions too, especially not for him to answer them even quicker than Seongwoo himself.

        Curiosity pooled in Seongwoo’s stomach, frustration stiffening his limbs. If only he could remember, if only he could figure it out.

        At the end, Minhyun took Seongwoo’s arm aside from where it was sprawled over the armrest and onto the laptop and clicked the submit button. It was a shadow of a touch, the side of his fingers brushing Seongwoo’s forearm. But it was enough.

        He could taste blood in the back of his throat, all iron and dust choking him until he could barely breathe. _It’s him, it’s him, it’s him, he’s here, he’s alive._ The last part was a bit much—Seongwoo had known he was alive, he’d heard what he’d done, but at the end of the day, he couldn’t reconcile the actions with the man he’d known.

        Minhyun had been focused on closing the browser and turning off his computer, but now, he shut his laptop and glanced over at him. His gaze seemed even more unsettling now that Seongwoo knew the story behind it.

        His lips twitched, and Seongwoo’s eyes flicked up to note the change in his expression. His gaze was still smooth, but where there had been coldness, there was now amusement, a mocking sharpness to his eyes.

        Seongwoo’s eyes narrowed, but nausea filled his throat unpleasantly. He brushed away nonexistent dust on his jeans and pulled himself to his feet. “I’m gonna use the restroom, let me know if I miss anything.”

        He moved to leave, but a voice, smooth and lilting, made him stop. “And why would I do that?”

        Seongwoo gritted his teeth before looking over his shoulder. “Oh, I don’t know. Some basic human courtesy.”

        Minhyun didn’t say anything for a moment, amusement still curving his lips. He slid his laptop into his bag, zipped it up, and clapped his hands together before leaning back in the chair. He looked back up at Seongwoo, fire and indolence mingling in his eyes. “And?”

        Seongwoo scowled, pulling his phone from his pocket and hastily switching on the recording button before leaving it in his chair. He glanced back over at Minhyun. “Can you at _least_ keep an eye on that?”

        Minhyun waved his hand, yawning before turning his half-lidded gaze back to the professor. “Go on, before you pee your pants.”

        He threw a last dirty look over his shoulder before leaving for the restroom. His steps were uneven and syncopated, his legs beginning to shake from it all. He slipped down the staircase outside of the lecture hall, gripping onto the handrail for dear life as his legs gave out. He slowed to a stop at the bottom, chest heaving and mind spinning.

        _It’s him, it’s him, it’s him, he’s alive, he’s here, what have you fucking done?_

But was it even him? The man in there, all cold fire and sharp angles where his Minhyun had been softer, brighter, warmer. Seongwoo forced himself to breathe, rationalizing what he’d just seen, what he’d just felt.

        It could be someone else, someone who looked the same, sounded the same, _felt the same—_

        He pushed himself to his feet, heart shuddering in his chest as he stumbled to the bathroom. He threw open the door when he made it, so unstable that the door crashed against the tiled bathroom wall. He winced at the sound, whispering a prayer under his breath so that no one heard it, that _he_ didn’t hear it. Minhyun didn’t need another reason to make a joke out of him.

        Even the thought of him was painful, sending another string of ‘ _it’s not him, it’s not him, it’s not him’_ through his mind.

        Seongwoo shuffled into the bathroom, falling forward and using the sides of the sinks as support. His legs were buckling, not from fatigue but from the opposite, from emotion that had become raw energy overwhelming this mortal form. His lips twisted in anger, in frustration, but he kept himself up. A single shaking hand snaked out, turning on the faucet. Water fell into the sink, splashing against his hands and covering him in fine droplets. He cupped his hands, cold spilling into warmth, and brought it up to his face. It burned like Minhyun’s touch had, all ice and fire.

        He washed his face over and over, until his teeth chattered, until the seraphic fire that threatened to consume this thin form subsided, until the buzzing in his ears faded and all he could hear was the trickling of water against stone.

        Seongwoo glanced down. The water had gone a rose pink color, and he turned his hands face up to inspect them. They were clean of blood, but they still stung, and when Seongwoo brought them closer, he could see half moons cut into his palms. He swore under his breath, too tired to care about the lecture on profanity and honoring their master Jisung would give him when he went back up. He watched his hands for a moment more, then let them sink into the rapidly warming water and glanced up at his reflection.

        There was something thin about him, layers of artificial perfection stripped away to reveal someone— _something_ —older than his years, more tired than the smoothness of his skin would suggest. Looking in the mirror, then, Seongwoo saw an old man who’d lived his life wrong, regrets clinging to him like moths to light.

        He didn’t recognize himself like this; vulnerability wasn’t an emotion he was used to, not since he’d left them.  

        Seongwoo glanced back up at his reflection, pulled his hands out of the water before wringing them dry. Under the burning skin, under the sickliness of his form, he saw a fire he hadn’t seen in millennia.

        When he left the bathroom, he ignored the door. It had fallen off its hinges.

↢

        Minhyun was the poster child of heaven. At least, that’s what Sungwoon had called him before it happened.

        He’d always seemed to burn brighter than everyone else, all youth and glory and a flame like beauty, like destruction. They called him morning star, his name on their lips like a prayer. He was the protagonist of a story all his own, of a _world_ all his own—Seongwoo was nothing more than an extra, a prop for character development.

        Yet that was a stretch. He was an archangel, a powerful one at that. He knew his strength, knew his achievements and his reputation, a golden plaque at the bottom of a storage box. God had always favored him, in his own little way. It was kind, if anything about divinity had ever been kind. And the others were courteous, if competitive at times. There was a hierarchy, a roiling one that shifted imperceptibly from day to day.

        Jisung was the leader, in action more than title. Sungwoon stood beside him, helpful when necessary and a pain in the ass the rest of the time. They were the oldest, if age even mattered. Seongwoo could barely remember his own creation—it was easier to pretend that he’d always existed. But sometimes he wondered otherwise.

        Daniel was… Daniel. Seongwoo had never been able to accustom himself to him. He was the strictest of them; Jisung was lenient in a way that commanded authority. He had never answered to anyone but God, and he made that clear. There was something unnerving about the way he so easily switched between personas, between casual and ruthless. But perhaps that was what he needed to carry out his responsibilities so cleanly, why he was loved as much as he was feared. Seongwoo rarely felt anything from the humans, be it fear or love—the mortals had taken to painting him as benevolent, merciful.

        If Daniel had the people’s hearts, Minhyun caught their eyes. He shined, he’d shone ever since he’d become. He was the youngest of them, if youth was real among angels. And that was where the conflict arose. Before him, there was a clear-cut order, a way of life. Daniel was the strongest, Sungwoon was the shrewdest, Jisung was the most level headed, and Seongwoo… he’d never seen a role for himself, really, but the others did.

        “You’re…” Jisung had said once, trailing off in a search for the right words. “You’re the… What do mortals use to adhere things to one another?”

        Seongwoo had blinked. “Glue?”

        Jisung had clapped his hands together. “You’re the glue!”

        He’d cocked his head. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

        Jisung had sighed. “Without you, I’m sure we would’ve fallen apart a long time ago. Why do you want to know anyway?”

        Regardless of his role within the group, he brought something, tied it all together somehow. They were a functioning unit, a carefully built system carved into a tool of discipline.

        Minhyun disrupted all of that.

        He was smarter, sharper, stronger, lovelier. And more than that, he was hungrier—he reminded Seongwoo of a baby wolf, ferocious without malice. The people were attracted to him, the angels too. Hell, Seongwoo could’ve bet money that even God was drawn to him, drawn by perfection he hadn’t meant to create.

        The rest of them welcomed him in easily, but he and Daniel never managed to settle, constantly in some coy game of dominance. It was annoying, but just as frightening. Seongwoo had never seen angels fight, and definitely not angels as strong as them. One would think that the more powerful one was, the wiser. He didn’t doubt that they were smart, but Minhyun’s hunger, Daniel’s ruthlessness—he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a bit unsettling.

        In this war of wills, the other archangels refused to pick sides. Sungwoon and Jisung simply kept an eye on them, complaining dryly when they thought they wouldn’t hear. Seongwoo had tried to do the same at first, tried to fade into the shadows like he’d always done before. That’s all he was, really, a channel for information, a nameless tool of divinity with too many secrets, too many skeletons in his closet.

        He’d done it before, slipped away before the spotlight caught him. But not this time, fingers wrapped around his wrist before he could tear himself away.

        Minhyun sought him first a couple months after he became, after he’d accustomed himself to the attention. Back then, he was still soft where it counted, basking in the gazes and the bright lights.

        He found him on a hill, a few miles from the city limits. It was Seongwoo’s favorite place, or at least his favorite up there. He took a seat beside him, disrupting the dry grass. He was prone to small acts of destruction like that. At first, it was more of an unconscious impulse, an imperceptible imbalance in his distribution of power.

        Seongwoo spoke without turning his head. “Why are you here?”

        He saw him sulk out of the corner of his eye, stretching his arms above him. “What, I can’t visit you? You’re never around anyway.”

        He couldn’t help but laugh at that. “I’m always around. It’s not my fault that none of you notice me.”

        “I do,” he said, voice low and unreadable, and there was an intensity in it that unnerved Seongwoo. Yet he didn’t feel threatened, not like he would if it was anyone else. “Even when you hide yourself. Why do you do that?”

        “Do what?” Seongwoo asked, glancing over once to scan him before returning his gaze to the horizon. There was a curiosity in his eyes, like Seongwoo was just another enigma for him to unravel, another game to play, to win.

        Minhyun didn’t say anything further, sensing that he wouldn’t get anything more out of Seongwoo. After a few minutes, he spoke again, and when Seongwoo looked at him, a smile was curving his lips. “You’re interesting.”

        “Thanks,” he said, drawing out the word. “Is that all?”

        “For now,” Minhyun replied, almost inaudible. “I’ll see you around.”

        When Seongwoo glanced over his shoulder, he was gone.

        Minhyun took a liking to him after that. Seongwoo had a habit of slipping out of meetings early, listening in to confidential discussions for fun. It wasn’t exactly that Minhyun tailed him—he couldn’t tell when he showed up, only that one moment he was alone, and the next he wasn’t.

        “Buzz off,” Seongwoo told him harshly after one such occasion. He’d almost passed out from fright, back pressed against a dark corridor when he saw glowing gold eyes in front of him.

        Minhyun only clucked his tongue in amusement. “Too afraid to swear in heaven?”

        Seongwoo narrowed his eyes. “Why do you say that like you do?”

        He only grinned at that, a shark’s grin, all bright white teeth in the darkness. “What are you even doing around here? Are you a spy?”

        Seongwoo scoffed. “I’m just bored, is all. I don’t have the time for espionage.”

        “Wouldn’t put it past you,” he said. “Hey, babe.”

        He scowled. “Don’t call me that.”

        Minhyun simply tilted his head back. The shadows cast him in sharp angles, all milky light across his cheekbones and a jawline cut in black. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, almost rasping. “You ever think about getting out of here?”

        Seongwoo’s gaze snapped towards him, so quick it almost hurt his neck. But there was no trace of betrayal in his eyes yet, no sign of malice. It was simply hunger, like it had always been, some kind of thirst for _more._

        “What do you mean?” he said slowly.

        Minhyun didn’t say anything for a moment, stretching his arms, slowly, lazily. He looked dangerous like that, a predator hyper aware of his power. It was times like this when Seongwoo almost feared him, when he thought to pull himself back from the edge of this crumbling cliff. When he glanced back at him, though, his eyes were different. The hunger hadn’t disappeared; an unsettlingly sharp excitement had joined it. He looked young like that, a mortal with big dreams. Seongwoo knew better, knew a baby wolf still had claws, and _yet._

        “Not getting out of _here,”_ he said, after a few minutes. “Not heaven, just… this life.”

        Seongwoo blew out a breath, heart threatening to beat out of his chest. “What, you want to be a mortal? I don’t think you’d survive long like that.”

        Minhyun laughed. “Oh, you’re funny. I’m not talking about downsizing.”

        “It doesn’t get better than this,” Seongwoo replied, voice surprisingly calm.

        “Really?” he said, and it was a taunt, it was a challenge, and he should’ve been afraid. He should’ve backed away, said he had somewhere to be, found some way out of this dangerous web Minhyun was threatening to spin. But he didn’t, just knocked his elbows back against the wall like they’d ground him somehow and looked up defiantly, into golden eyes that seemed to speak of judgement. “Are you so sure about that?”

        Seongwoo said nothing at that. There was something so wrong about all of this; an angel lost in his ego, another caught between shadows, and these desires spilled out between them. He glanced at the end of the corridor, at the door he’d shut before he’d came in, afraid someone would hear them. But he knew no one would.

        Minhyun took a step forward then. It was an advance, almost feral in nature, but he stopped in the middle of the corridor, still feet between them. When he spoke, he looked up, his hair cutting his gaze into shards. “I have you figured out, you know.”

        Seongwoo breathed a laugh. “Do you, now?”

        “Mm,” he said, nodding. “You’re not as harmless as they make you out to be. But what I still don’t get—why do you hide yourself?”

        He folded his arms, fingers seconds from shaking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

        Minhyun shook his head, a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “I’ll get it out of you, one day.”

        “I’ll be waiting,” Seongwoo said, a hint of sincerity present in his words. Minhyun simply threw a smile over his shoulder, leaving him in the darkness.

       

↣

        Seongwoo didn’t go home right after class, wandering around the city and picking up groceries before returning to his apartment. It wasn’t anything too healthy, just a couple packages of ramen and box of granola bars. He’d gone a couple days without food already—even after centuries of switching between mortal forms, he’d never really gotten used to a regular eating schedule. But after today, he could feel his body weakening, almost viscerally. It was annoying, to say the least.

        His apartment was fairly close to campus, a couple blocks off. It wasn’t perfect, not nearly as expensive of a place as he could get with his allowance. But he found that those kinds of apartments, dripping stainless steel and dollar bills, attracted too much attention.

        It was nearing seven in the evening when he got back, the building so empty that the only sound was the scratch of the wind blowing branches against the window. When he opened the door, he could hear the far off trickle of water on stone, and he swore under his breath. The water bill was going to be irritatingly high this month.

        Seongwoo had built up a pretty quick routine for nights. Shower, eat, lie down and watch whatever overdramatic garbage was on television. Everything was a bit more stretched out tonight; the heat of Minhyun’s touch lingering on his skin even after minutes in the shower, three bowls of ramen filled up to the line with boiling water, his television taking ten minutes to switch on because of a building storm outside.

        But it was okay, because he needed the time, really. He was still processing that morning, still combing through it for information he could’ve missed.

        Countless more bowls of ramen and two drama episodes later, Seongwoo came to a conclusion. It wasn’t Minhyun, not _his_ Minhyun at least. There were too many breaks in the narrative, too many places where they didn’t match up. It was probably a quirk of fate, a doppelganger with a penchant for rudeness.

        He blew out a breath, chest still tight somehow. He was waiting for the pin to drop, for something to fall apart, but he couldn’t tell what.

        Seongwoo’s phone buzzed, close to falling off the coffee table, and he reached out an arm to catch it, watching the notifications pop up with something close to boredom.

        **sungwoon** ** _[8:32 PM]:_** Seongwoo

        **sungwoon** ** _[8:32 PM]:_** Come up

        **sungwoon** ** _[8:33 PM]:_** I have a job for you ~

        Seongwoo narrowed his eyes at the messages. He’d had a job last night, a rather unpleasant disposal one—it was becoming a pain in the ass.

        **seongwoo** ** _[8:34 PM]:_** and if i don’t want to come?

        The reply was near instantaneous, and Seongwoo kept himself from scoffing. Sungwoon was almost predictable, but he’d be lying if he said the rhythm of it didn’t calm him.

        **sungwoon** ** _[8:34 PM]:_** Oh don’t be like that

        **sungwoon** ** _[8:35 PM]:_** It’ll be fun, you like playing with the mortals anyway

        **sungwoon** ** _[8:35 PM]:_** And i haven’t seen you in so long :(

        He wrinkled his nose, dropping the phone back onto the couch beside him. He wasn’t going to get out of this, that he knew. He was either going up or getting an earful from Jisung the next time he dared to step foot in there. In fact, he wouldn’t put it past them to have Daniel come down and get him to work himself.

        And that, that would just be fucking _annoying._

        He typed back a quick reply before forcing himself to get up. He inspected himself in the bathroom mirror; a t-shirt and boxers seemed a bit disrespectful. He didn’t care as much about the lack of respect as he did about how it’d make him stand out.

       

        **seongwoo** ** _[8:43 PM]:_** where are we meeting

        **sungwoon** ** _[8:44 PM]:_** You know the high rise they use for business

        **sungwoon** ** _[8:44 PM]:_** There’s a lounge on the second floor, dress nice

        Seongwoo scowled down at his phone, slightly miffed at how he’d known why he was asking. He dressed quickly, or as quickly as he could with his closet’s contents spilled out across the floor of his bedroom. He settled for a suit, not his best but not his worst. He thought to look in the mirror before he left, a quick onceover of sorts, but the thought made him nauseous. Perhaps he was developing a phobia. He’d send Minhyun the bills for his therapist.

        Seongwoo didn’t like using his powers to go up there, didn’t like using them in general. They made him sleepy, and intensely motion sick. But the gates were few and far between, and simply put, he was lazy.

        It took a few seconds to catch the flow of it; he pressed his thumb to the inside of his wrist and waited, waited until the pressure of his blood swelled from a steady thrum to a roar. Then he closed his eyes, and thought of heaven. Thought of the sleek monochrome, and the glitter in the skies. It was all artificial of course, stars hung by magic to calm down souls thrown too far into homesickness.

        When he opened his eyes, nausea knocked him back a few steps, into the side of the building he’d come to. Then he glanced around, and his lungs emptied. It was always beautiful—frightening, but beautiful.

        Heaven was never the same. That was the first thing he noticed, the way the buildings were slightly different from the last time he’d come up. Bricks had turned to stone, street lamps replaced by neon signs that burned a little too bright. The first time he’d come up, he’d nearly had a heart attack. That being said, spending the entirety of the Renaissance on earth probably wasn’t the best idea.

        It was simple, once you understood it. Heaven was bound to earth, Hell bound to earth’s desires. As humans advanced, as they twisted their surroundings into things wholly new, heaven adapted. The biggest change was when Seongwoo had come up in the 1920s after leaving in 1773. The lights had given him a headache, and it had taken him two hours to find his way to the seraph dorms.

        These days the changes were more gradual. He saw it in the bright lights, the silver and white of the buildings. The air always smelled faintly of rain, yet it was never damp.

        Seongwoo glanced up, orienting himself to his surroundings for the first time. It was a hospital, created simply for the purpose of existing. There was no real need for medicine in a place with no pain, but it provided some comfort to the souls, he supposed. He remembered that it was a couple blocks off from the skyscraper and dipped out of the alleyway and into the street before he could waste any more time.

        He’d brought a trench coat too, a long thing that hung over him, widening his figure and obscuring his features. The last thing he needed right not was to be stopped by a soul, or even worse, another angel.

        Yet there was still a couple murmurs he caught—hiding in plain sight had never worked in heaven, but the opposite was still conspicuous. He simply quickened his pace, catching the door of the building as the person in front of him flung it closed.

        A couple of similarly noticeable maneuvers later, he walked into the lounge, breathing out a long sigh. Maybe the business would be over soon; he’d get his job done, and go home and take a long nap. But when Sungwoon looked up at him, seated on the edge of the bar toying with a tall glass of water, he knew it wouldn’t be that simple.

        Seongwoo took a seat tentatively, fingers sprawled against the bar counter haphazardly even with his muscles tensed to leave. He looked up at Sungwoon, but the other’s eyes were fixed past him, on a clock that had never once run properly. “Do you have the job, or did you call me here to chat?”

        Sungwoon frowned. “You sound on edge. Did something happen?”

        Seongwoo thought of that morning, of golden eyes that had gone dark brown and a touch that burned like ice. “Not really, just lost some sleep.”

        He folded his arms. “You _know_ you need to take care of your form. Especially this one, he looks fragile. We can’t have you burning through hosts like matches, that was tiring enough when you first went down.”

        Seongwoo laughed and put two fingers to his forehead. “Aye, aye, captain.” The other angel simply stared at him without understanding, and he rolled his eyes. “Sorry, I forget that you haven’t gone down there in millennia sometimes. You could at least try to keep up with the culture, though.”

        Sungwoon waved his hand dismissively. “Too much work. Not when I have you to helpfully update me on everything whenever you visit.”

        “Yeah, right,” Seongwoo coughed. The bartender, an angel he didn’t recognize, placed a glass of soju beside him, and he lifted it to his lips.

        Sungwoon wrinkled his nose. “You and your mortal alcohol.”

        He raised his eyebrows and took another sip. “Don’t get me wrong, I love hearing you pick apart my highly evolved palate, but I thought I was here for something else.”

        Sungwoon rolled his eyes before pulling a slip of paper out of his pocket and handing it to him. He spoke before he could read it. “You’re getting a lot of jobs these days. Do you have a new cult?”

        Seongwoo pursed his lips, scanning the paper. It was a delivery to a mountain town in Tibet. There went his chance for a good night’s sleep. He folded the paper and sighed deeply, tucking it into his pocket before grinning at Sungwoon. “Maybe. I’m sure FedEx is losing business.”

        “Fed—” Sungwoon blinked at him. “Fed what?”

        Seongwoo reached out and patted his shoulder. “It’s nothing, don’t worry.”

        Sungwoon glared at him, but his eyes were smiling. “How are things down there? You’re keeping out of trouble, I trust?”

        He pouted. “As much as I can. It gets boring after a while, I have to admit.”

        “Well, those are the pains of being a good role model,” he retorted. “If you fell, what would the mortals think?”

        Seongwoo didn’t think they’d think much of it all. Their idea of him was so wrought with holes; at most, it would be a couple centuries of conspiracy and disbelief, and nothing more. But he simply said, “Personally, I’m more scared of hell. I heard they don’t have proper plumbing.”

        “Brat,” Sungwoon said, huffing a laugh. His gaze slid sideways again, to that clock that had never run. It was a show of sorts—he could sense the time; he didn’t need to check it. He clapped his hands together. “It’s getting late down there, I think. You know the time runs differently.”

        He blew out a sigh, putting down a couple of coins beside his empty glass and getting up. “You’re right. You’ll have to catch me up on here later.”

        “I will,” Sungwoon said, raising a hand in farewell. “Take care of yourself!”

        Seongwoo said nothing to the last part, simply walking out of the lounge. When he got from the corridor to the elevator, dimly lit by silver lamps, he leaned against the metal walls and put a finger to his wrist. Pressed tight and thought of home, or a place that he’d come to think of as home, all leaky pipes and low ceilings.

        It was early morning when he opened his eyes, the coming sunrise streaking the dark sky with light blues. He was outside his apartment building, damp bricks against his back and the faint sound of the city tinkling in the distance.

        He pulled the paper out of his pocket, inspected the address. The delivery was expected in a couple hours. At that realization, a wave of anxiety washed through him—he’d never once been late on a job, and he never wanted to. But something stopped him, kept him pressed against the cool stone of the building. A breeze blew through the air then, smelling faintly of smoke and dust. In any other moment, in any other life, he would’ve wrinkled his nose, put a hand to his face until it passed.

        But now, he simply tilted his head back and placed his palms on the uneven brick, breathing in until his lungs felt close to bursting. He let his eyes flutter closed; he expected to see darkness, but two golden eyes were pressed against the insides of his eyelids.


	2. into fire and ice.

_better to reign in Hell, than to serve in Heaven._

_\- john milton, paradise lost_

 

        Minhyun didn’t always show up to class.

        At first, Seongwoo chalked it up to truancy—after all, he didn’t seem the sort of person bound by schedules. But then he noticed the replacement, a younger boy with a round face and sharply cut eyes. They seemed to switch off, Minhyun coming in a couple classes and him coming in for the rest. The younger seemed to pay attention even less than Minhyun did; he put his phone on record and placed it on his armrest before tilting his head back and passing out.

        It was a bit strange, and he probably would’ve thought to look into it more, if he’d had the time. But he didn’t, and that was even stranger. The jobs were getting more frequent, and longer at that—sometimes he was out for days at a time, sneaking twenty minute naps between three thousand mile jumps. After, he crawled into his apartment and passed out on the floor, cheek against dusty hardwood. That was when he saw him next, after a particularly long job that’d carved out a week.

        Seongwoo liked to think that he didn’t drink often. He drank more than the other angels, far more than the other archangels. But it was a side effect of his work on earth—there’d come a point where alcohol was a formality in transactions, and five thousand dollar whisky in a crystal shot glass wasn’t something he could exactly turn down.

        He didn’t think of it as an addiction, though; there was nothing he enjoyed about the taste, about the buzz. The burn—that was nice.

        The bar he went to, when he had the time, wasn’t too well known. It was far from campus, in the heart of the city. It always smelled faintly of rusting metal and old coffee, and a musty floral scent trailing it all.

        It was Monday morning, three hours before dawn, and Seongwoo’s arms were dusted with rain. A slight shiver ran through his body before he opened the door, and he could feel dampness on the back of his neck. He scowled, raising a hand to brush away the water. This was the last time he went on a job without an umbrella.

        The bartender on shift, a Nephilim named Jihoon, waved at him. “Your usual?”

        Seongwoo simply nodded and smiled, taking a seat near the edge of the bar. He blew out, the tension in his chest releasing and uncoiling. Jobs always made him anxious—as if he was being watched, as if he was being judged. God was always watching him now, but it was usually easier to forget.

        But now, another strain of nervousness joined the releasing anxiety. His skin went cold, and suddenly, he noted the faint smell of smoke in the air and the tall figure in front of him. _Great,_ he thought, as he turned to face him. _This is just great._

“Nice to see you again,” Minhyun said, lips twisting in a grin. Seongwoo tried to keep from flinching, tapping his fingers against the marble of a bar.

        “Can’t say the same,” he replied, avoiding his gaze. In the distance, Jihoon was pouring his glass of soju, clear liquid against glass. The tinkling sound was grating in the near silence.

        “Oh, don’t be like that,” he said, and Seongwoo remembered Sungwoon, wincing at the parallel. He glanced around, waving a hand. “This place’s pretty small, hm?’

        “I guess,” he returned cautiously. There was something alluring about this Minhyun and his one, about the way they glittered in the dark. He was a living trap, he thought, all pretty eyes and sharp teeth. “Why are you here?”

        He pouted at that, taking a sip of his drink, some fruity low alcohol cocktail. “Not allowed to destress?”

        “Hmph,” Seongwoo said. Jihoon put down the drink beside him and he took a long gulp, letting it wash down his throat before slamming it back down. He wasn’t usually an aggressive drinker, but Minhyun put him on edge.

        The taller man blinked at him, head tilted. “I didn’t think you drank.”

        Seongwoo wiped his mouth. “Why not? Am I not allowed to?”

        It was a bait of sorts—angels didn’t drink, demons did, or at least that’s how it’d been back when his Minhyun was up there. But if Minhyun fell for it, he didn’t show it, simply throwing back his drink again and smiling at him. It made Seongwoo’s gut clench, somewhere between cheeky and threatening. “Don’t know, just didn’t expect it. Not a lot of devout church boys like you get smashed on a regular basis.”

        Seongwoo’s fingers tightened around the cup, condensation wetting his palm. “Devout?”

        Minhyun nodded, smile widening. He reached out then, and Seongwoo stiffened, but he didn’t move. His fingers were cold, colder than they’d been the first time, and they felt like dry ice on his skin as he pulled the thin silver necklace off his neck. He took the cross between two fingers, rubbing it slightly for show before glancing back at him. “Do you pray before meals too? I knew a guy who did that. His faith didn’t last long.”

        He turned his neck, abruptly enough that the necklace fell from Minhyun’s fingers. “I wouldn’t put such little faith in God, if I were you.”

        When he laughed, it was frightening. It was frightening, but beautiful, like everything he did. The near silence of the bar snapped, that bright but chaotic sound spilling everywhere. It grated against his ears, yet he strained to hear more. His head was down, hair obscuring his gaze, and yet Seongwoo knew. He knew the anger in those eyes, a bitterness that he could _feel,_ and it unsettled him. A tremor ran through him, and it wasn’t from the rain.

        “Ah,” Minhyun said, after it bubbled into silence. His voice was low, sweet like poison, but there was a hint of melancholy in it. “Thanks for the laugh.”

        Seongwoo said nothing at that, chest tight. He took another sip of soju and then cleared his throat. “I didn’t think you’d drink either, to be honest.”

        “Mm?” he said, looking up. The fire had begun to fade, but the iris was still dark, pupils blown out. “Why?”

        He felt as though as he was on the edge of a cliff, dangling small pieces of bait to a shark that could easily pull him into the water. His self preservation was strong, that was true, but his curiosity was stronger. And even now, even when he knew that this man couldn’t possibly be his Minhyun—he couldn’t help but try to prove otherwise.

        Seongwoo said, “Just. You look a lightweight, is all.”

        Minhyun smiled. “That’s cute, you’re worried. I have a high tolerance—it’s a kind of occupational hazard, if you will.”

        His chest unwound, and he prayed it didn’t show. His Minhyun hadn’t drank, despite his distaste for heaven’s rules. He’d hated the taste. “What do you mean?”

        His lips scrunched, and he stretched his arms to the side, muscles rippling. “In my line of work, getting drunk is dangerous, to say the least. But drinking is unavoidable, so you could say I got used to it.”

        “What’s your job?”

        Minhyun raised his eyebrows. “Someone’s chatty today. Your mind’s still working fine at three A.M.?”

        Seongwoo took another gulp of his drink and smiled, willed it to look as sharp as Minhyun’s. “Just curious.”

        “Hm…” he said, tapping his finger against his lips. “I’m the head of a group.”

        “A company? So you’re a CEO,” Seongwoo offered. The words fell out, alcohol beginning to weigh down his tongue.

        He wrinkled his nose. “Bigger than a company.”

        _A chaebol heir, maybe?_

        “Why so secretive? Don’t you want to brag?”

        Minhyun laughed again at that, harder, and Seongwoo forced himself not to flinch. “Oh, I don’t need to brag to you.”

        Before Seongwoo could ask him what he meant, Minhyun had tossed back the last dregs of his drinks and placed it back down, folding a twenty dollar bill beside it. He put up a hand in farewell, smile just as unnerving as the first time he’d seen it. “See you in class, Seongwoo.”

        It was a dazing series of events, and Seongwoo could only blink as he walked past him and out of the bar. A few minutes after, the bar empty and the aftertaste of the alcohol beginning to fill his throat, he glanced back. “See you.”

       

↣

        The rainy season came in full force after that. The showers came quickly, but left in the next minute, the last droplets clinging to brick buildings.

        Minhyun was as mysterious as always, a sudden new fixture in his life without any of the clarity that that position should’ve brought. Every time Seongwoo asked him a question bordering on personal, he made an excuse.

        “What’s your hometown?” he’d asked once, handing him a container of strawberry milk before class.

        He’d looked down at it, frowned, and taken a sip before answering, “Don’t have one.”

        Seongwoo had gritted his teeth. “What does that mean?”

        Lips twisted, he’d grinned back up at him like he _knew._ “Aw, did I get on your nerves? Sorry, you’re just so fragile sometimes, you know? Like you could break at any moment.”

        But snapping wasn’t the same as shattering; hands fixed over a cage taking wire mesh apart wasn’t the same as a sandcastle falling to pieces, and it couldn’t be him, it couldn’t _possibly_ be his Minhyun, because he would’ve known.

        Instead, he’d just said, “Thanks.”

        His smile had widened, then. His curiosity annoyed him sometimes; it was like his Minhyun’s, his probing words offered in dark corridors out of nothing but a young wolf’s hunger. But he supposed he couldn’t blame him—he was playing this game out of curiosity, too. Nothing more.

        The showers came after midnight, one A.M. creeping up on him. He’d stayed late at the library after a job gone wrong, blood seeping through his jacket from where he’d pulled it over his split knuckles. It’d been a simple drop off, nothing more than a package the size of his fist and a somewhat incendiary message, and the aggression had caught him off guard. He tried bandaging it up with toilet paper, tearing some fabric from the edge of his t-shirt, but that would just create more of a fuss. He was already fucked the next time he happened to go up; he might as well just deal with the blood later. The water would wash it clean, anyway.

        So he shucked the jacket off, threw it in a dumpster three minutes before he left the library, five minutes before the rain started. The clouds above him were dark, even in the black sky, hanging low like they knew something. The moon had disappeared, a new moon around the corner and so the absence where it’d hung was nearly pregnant.

        It was a bad night, he could tell that. He would’ve tapped himself to his apartment if he had the energy, but it had been a week since he’d last eaten and he didn’t think his form had much time left until it burned.

        The rain started a couple blocks from the library, and he pulled his arms close to him like that would keep him dry. At first it was a drizzle, refreshing almost. It pulled a sigh from him, tore at the knot of resentment and fatigue and fizzling negativity that built in his chest after a while. It was almost cathartic really—up until the moment the rain quickened, deepened, and suddenly it was a downpour.

        He glanced up, and rain beat against his face endlessly until he had the common sense to look down and run for cover.

        Seongwoo had a couple choices: steal an umbrella (another scolding from Jisung, maybe more), tap home and pass out for two weeks from the combined fatigue (maybe burn away if he was unfortunate), or make a run for it. The one with the least repercussions was also the most unpleasant.

        Sometimes, Seongwoo hated abiding by the rules.

        By the time he got to the next crosswalk, the street lights blinking a bright green and the rain coming down around him, he was out of breath and soaked. His white t-shirt had gone translucent, sticking to him all over. He would have been self conscious if he wasn’t half dead, but his cheeks still pinked at the exposure. He was gasping, not from the exertion, but from the burn inside of him. The coolness of the water sliding against his skin mixed with the feverish heat in his veins—it was disorienting, and he almost lost his balance. He backed up, knocked himself back under the awning of a convenience store and waited for the timer to tick down, waited for the lights to go red.

        Then he heard the cars slow to a stop, looked up into a downpour smeared with the silver and gold of streetlights, before tucking his head, his arms, into his body. But there were too many people, the sort of crowd that did nothing to keep him from getting wet but constricted his movement to bumps into the people in front of him.

        If he could’ve lived through it one more time, he’d have asked him not to drop it.

        But he did; all he saw was a shadow that made the moonlight go gray and then the stretchers came down on his head. In the dampness, it slid off in half a second and he bent, half stumbled to catch it.

        When he looked back up, the handle still threatening to slip through his fingers, the figure was walking away. Seongwoo swore under his breath, clutching the umbrella to his chest and calling out, “Wait!”

        And when Minhyun turned to face him, it was terrible, it was so terrible, and Seongwoo’s lungs emptied at the realization. Because it had been weeks since he’d last called after him like that, since they’d met like that, all sharp eyes and smoke, yet there was nothing different about this moment.

        He was dressed casually, the first time he’d ever seen him out of suits and carefully tailored sweaters and pants. It was obvious he didn’t do it often—even though his sweatshirt hung to his knees, it barely covered half of the gaping holes in his jeans, and rain was dotting the fabric with dark spots.

        He was beautiful and frightening—nothing more, nothing less. Even that was a lie, he knew. But it was a lie he was willing to believe.

        “What?” he called back, but his voice was quieter, nearly inaudible. Without the protection of the umbrella, he was defenseless, rain soaking his hair to his head and dripping down his cheeks like tears.

        When Seongwoo spoke, he was breathless. “When should I give it back?”

        Minhyun didn’t say anything for a second, head tilted slightly down so that his hair fell into his eyes and obscured his gaze. The crowd moved around them, shoulders jostling into his chest but it was already too tight for comfort.

        When he looked up, water dripped from the edges of his fringe onto his collarbones, and his eyes shone. There was something latent and unreadable in those eyes, and Seongwoo had no choice but to hold his breath and wait for him to speak. “Next class. But you better go home and dry it, because if I find one drop of water, I’m charging you the price and interest. I don’t need water in my bag.”

        Then he turned to walk away, the outline of his face still visible in the moonlight but it wasn’t enough, just a monochrome chiaroscuro and the umber of his eyes.

        Seongwoo opened his mouth to say something more but his breath caught, water dripping off his bottom lip. It was all a bit too much, and it took him a few seconds to collect himself. His rational thinking had burnt at the edges, and when he finally spoke, the words came out tangled. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you cared about me.”

        Minhyun stopped, so abruptly that the rain fell harder on his back for a fraction of a second. He glanced over his shoulder, lips twisted and eyes bright. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted me to.”

        And it was just like the last time. Seongwoo’s tongue tied itself into knots as Minhyun walked away; pedestrians knocked into him, throwing him off balance, and yet all he could do was stand there dumbly, staring into the spot where he’d stood as if he could still see his smile.

↢

        Seongwoo had wanted that to be the last time, hushed voices in a dark corridor—had wanted to keep Minhyun’s dreams locked up and set away, even when they drew him at the same time. But that wasn’t really out of some personal attachment to the ideals themselves, just the face behind them.

        But it was just the beginning, really, and if he’d had any idea how deep the fault lines would run, he would’ve thrown Minhyun out of heaven himself. Or at least he liked to think he would’ve.

        At first the build was quiet, slow but sure, nothing but quiet whispers behind decrepit buildings beside the city limits, hands taken and twined when he was sure no one would see.

        Some of the moments stood out starker than the others, memories he liked to browse through like snapshots centuries after it all ended. Like a story that belonged to someone else.

        There was a council meeting a couple weeks before it happened, on the humans and their offerings, as most were. Jisung was rattling through a list of new updates, with Sungwoon piping up to offer feedback every few minutes. Apart from them, it was static, half the angels asleep. Even Daniel’s eyes were fluttering closed, and Seongwoo would’ve reached out a hand to wake him if he was beside him. But he wasn’t—he’d always been beside him, before Minhyun had become, some invisible alarm clock. Glue, like Jisung had called him, glue to hold this precarious system together.

        But now he’d come apart, and everything else was following.

        A hand snaked around his wrist, moving onto his thigh, and Seongwoo flinched so hard he nearly bumped the half asleep angel beside him. Minhyun didn’t like sitting with the other archangels, at the head of the room, preferring a darker spot in the back. And for some reason, here Seongwoo was, one leg half asleep and the other nearly on fire.

        Seongwoo gritted his teeth and glanced over at him. “Behave yourself.”

        Minhyun grinned. “Why should I?”

        “We’re in _public,”_ Seongwoo returned, shrugging off his touch and praying he wouldn’t feel the sweat beading on his skin.

        But it was obvious he did, and his Cheshire cat grin widened ever so slightly. “Let’s just get out of here.”

        He frowned. “This is a mandatory meeting. And we’re archangels—”

        “That’s not stopped you in the past,” he pushed back, leaning forward just slightly, and Seongwoo’s heart stuttered in his chest. At the hesitance in his expression, he pulled back for a second, then put his head on his shoulder, mouth dangerously closed to his ear. “Come on, this is so _boring._ And you know they’ll catch us up on it later even if we leave early.”

        Another moment of silence, if it could even be called that. Seongwoo’s heart was threatening to beat out of his chest, his raw emotion threatening to engulf the room. The quiet droning of Jisung’s voice was the least of his concerns.

        Minhyun smiled, the observant bastard, and spoke again, closer this time. His breath tickled the soft flesh of his ear lobe, and Seongwoo clenched his fists to keep from shivering, pain shooting through his forearms.

        “What are you so afraid of?”

↢

        That day, he hadn’t given in, but there was nothing to be said about the successive ones. Sometimes they never even went to the meetings, meeting in badly lit alleys a couple of blocks from the council hall. The others caught on after a while, and it was more annoyance than real anger, but it simmered nonetheless.

        Seongwoo’d come out late from a patrol, slipping out of the formation and into the labyrinth of backstreets. It didn’t take long for him to get lost—he liked to think he knew the city like the back of his hands, but there were still shadows of it that evaded him, changing every time he saw them. He stopped, palm of his hand flat against a brick wall as he tried to orient himself and glanced around once, like the darkness would help him.

        A feather light touch brushed against his neck, and he would’ve flinched if it had been anyone else, but coming from him it was familiar. His muscles uncoiled, and he turned, pressing his back against the stone and looking up.

        Minhyun was just slightly breathless, and when he leaned forward, Seongwoo could taste sweat against his upper lip. Seongwoo shoved him away, rough, but the other’s lips curled in a grin at the touch. He clucked. “Someone’s feisty today.”

        “What happened?” Seongwoo said bluntly, shirt fisted in his hands to keep him from pulling him back one more time. The taller man shook his head in dismissal, taking another step forward, but Seongwoo wrapped two fingers in the edge of his shirt and kept him inches apart. When he spoke, his voice was low, and Minhyun’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “I asked you a question.”

        He shook him off, but it wasn’t aggressive. “Had a tail this time. Daniel—he doesn’t like rule breakers, does he?”

        Seongwoo’s lungs emptied. “Daniel was chasing you?”

        Minhyun shook his head again, and his eyes were so bright, yet so cold. “Chasing’s the wrong word. He was following me. But he’s inexperienced at that, so clunky and big—he lost me after two blocks.” He moved closer, plucking the fingers from his shirt and putting his mouth beside Seongwoo’s ears. “You could give him some lessons in that, you know. The way you disappear into the shadows.”

        Usually, the praise would’ve sent something through Seongwoo—some bolt of satisfaction. But the fear, the dread building in the pit of his stomach, was stronger, and it took all he had to simply stand there.

        There was no warning before Minhyun kissed him this time, none except his hands cupping Seongwoo’s cheeks and a chaste press of their lips. It was clumsy at best, noses centimeters from knocking together, but it was enough.

        They broke apart for a fraction of a second, and then Seongwoo brought up his hands to lock around his neck and Minhyun’s fingers slid down his spine, eliciting a strangled sound. He saw his eyes then, before he came in for another kiss, and his breath disappeared even before they touched.

        This, this fire—it’s what made it all too much to give up. It was too much to say he was addicted, really, because he wasn’t. Not to the idea of it, and definitely not to the consequences. But simply to this coarse flame that burned between them; the feeling of being more, of having someone who saw you as more.

        He was beautiful like this. There was danger wrought in his veins, carelessness carved into his bones, and yet it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that he was made to be admired, and made to be feared; made to be placed on a throne and seen as more than who he was.

        Because right now, his heart was bared; despite himself, despite everything about his creation, he was nothing but a youth, and Seongwoo could taste the vulnerability on his tongue when he kissed him. He lowered his hands a bit, rubbing against the tightness in his back and it dissipated in the next second.

        They were nearly fluid, nothing more than fire and water. And he knew it wasn’t meant for forever—when one was immortal, they came to notice these things, these hallmarks of ephemerality: the unsteadiness of a train seconds from derailing; the bright flare of a flame meant to burn out; the crumbling foundation of an empire sinking into nothing.

        An end was written into them, twined through the very basis of their relationship. It was more than a fling and less than a forever, chaos meant to build to a peak before consuming everything around it.

        Seongwoo knew this, and yet it wasn’t enough.

        That was the biggest flaw in humanity’s depiction of them; that they were perfect, that they were flawless and above temptation. Because everything living yearns to feel something more than itself, yearns to feel something at all.

        He’d never felt anything before Minhyun.

        So it didn’t matter that fire was made to burn—because he would gladly fall to ashes if that meant he could keep this for one second more, keep feeling this for one second more. It was selfish, imperfect, and utterly flawed, and yet all his angelic discipline and morality couldn’t keep him from indulging in it.

        The next time Minhyun broke away, he stilled for a second, holding his shoulders gently. He brought up a hand, brushed it against his cheek, and when he spoke, his voice was unbearably soft. “Why are you crying?”

        A hot tear dripped from his jaw onto his wrist, onto where it pressed against Minhyun’s, and Seongwoo kept his eyes on the ground. A million thoughts raced through his brain, and his legs tensed as if to scream at him to run away. Yet he was rooted firm, unable to move. After a second, he pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes and wiped them clean before smiling at Minhyun. “It’s nothing.”

        Minhyun held his gaze for one second more, searching for something, searching for the sorrow that he’d wiped away just as cleanly as his tears. But before he could say anything more, Seongwoo shook him off and turned to leave. He glanced over his shoulder, other hand shaking as he held it to him. “I’ll see you around. Keep Daniel off your back.”

        It was the first time Seongwoo had ever left him. Sometimes, he wished it’d been the last.

↢

        Minhyun came to him at night after that, sour yet beautiful. Seongwoo had come in late that morning, staying out for a job on earth that was supposed to take five minutes and had taken five hours. Daniel and Minhyun had left early, for some errand only for them. It was a bad idea, but those seemed to be fate’s favorite.

        Jisung pulled him aside when he came back, head hung low from fatigue. His gaze was warm but firm. “Seongwoo.”

        “Hm?”

        “Is there going on I should know about? Between you and Minhyun?”

        Seongwoo’s heart skipped a beat, but he just took a long gulp from his glass of water without answering. He took a moment to wipe his mouth before finally forcing himself to speak. “No? Not that I know of.”

        Jisung frowned, as if he’d expected it. “I know you don’t want to talk about—”

        “Jisung—”

        He put up a hand. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, so I won’t force you. But just—be careful.”

        The words irritated for him some reason—he’d treated everything in this life with such care, and it’d had gotten him nowhere. But instead, he simply smiled, tilted his head like he understood. “Of course.”

        Jisung gave a last uneasy onceover and let him go. On an off day, Seongwoo would usually go out, take a walk through the city. But he was exhausted, for some reason, tired to his bones and to his soul, so he simply closed the door to his room and fell asleep.  

        When he woke up, it was early night, and he could hear the faint sound of the city falling asleep outside his window. It was soothing, and lethargy weighed him down, leaning him back against his headboard. He could fall back asleep like this, he thought. Really, he nearly did.

        Distantly, heard the door to his room creak open. Just under this warm, half asleep stupor, a little voice told him to check who it was. But it took him a few seconds to go through with it, a hand planted on his left side pushing him the other way.

        He didn’t get far, a hand covering his and another tilting his shoulders back. He blinked up at Minhyun, opening his mouth to ask where he’d been, why it’d taken so long. But the other didn’t let him, pressing his lips to his before he could speak.

        Seongwoo broke the kiss after long, knocking his head back against the headboard if only to break the haze of sleep and pleasure clouding his brain. He looked back up at him, trying to sharpen his gaze the way Minhyun had always done. “What’s wrong?”

        Minhyun didn’t answer for a second, chest rising and falling heavily. His eyes were fixed on Seongwoo’s neck, on his arms, on his chest—anywhere but his eyes. Seongwoo brought up a hand to cup his cheek and tilted his jaw up sharply. And there was something about him in that moment that took the air from his lungs.

        He was all molten gold, the prick of cut glass against smooth skin. Harsh, yet lovely. His gaze was nothing but hooks digging into Seongwoo’s heart. Minhyun’s lips twitched at the awe in his eyes, at how he so easily fell apart, and he brought up his hands to kiss him again, but Seongwoo stopped him, finger pressed to his lips inches away from his own.

        “Minhyun,” he whispered, and it was a play at authority, but it was enough to make him pull away. “What happened?”

        Minhyun leaned back, and Seongwoo realized that the other was straddling him, bent knees parted around his waist. He drew a hand through his hair, pulling it into disorder before sighing and cocking his head. “Daniel.”

        Seongwoo couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re going to need to give me a bit more than that, babe.”

        Minhyun smiled, but it held no humor. “We fought. Honestly, I don’t even remember what it was about—every small thing that went wrong, every inconsistency in the directions, we fought about. I just—”

        He cut off then, just a bit breathless, and Seongwoo took a hand and pressed it against his chest, against his beating heart, and he glanced at him before continuing. “I just don’t know why we’re serving Him. There’s no real morality to any of this, it’s all rotting inside, all empty formalities and corruption and—I could do it better, if I had the chance.”

        Seongwoo bit his lip to keep from frowning, iron filling his mouth. Minhyun had always been atypical, clearly cut different from the others. It was what made him so alluring. But this—this was dangerous.

        God wasn’t perfect, not like they’d taught the mortals. But a single angel, even an archangel, had little chance of toppling his system, of facing him and living to tell of it. And Seongwoo knew this, and he looked up, ready to tell Minhyun that it would never work.

        But there was an earnestness in those eyes, an impossible youth, and for half a second, Seongwoo could understand why mortals sinned. To believe in something destined for destruction was one thing; to love a believer was another. And yet they both ended the same way.

        “Seongwoo?” Minhyun asked softly, and when his eyes focused, there was no trace of that trademark ferocity, sharp angles and harsh light.

        “Yeah?” he whispered, like that was enough. Like this conversation was the end, and they would never speak of it again. But he knew better, knew his ambition and his dreams, knew that the only temporary thing about this was their relationship.

        Minhyun hesitated, and there was something so vulnerable about that. Seongwoo ached to pull that tension from him, to kiss him until he couldn’t remember his own name, couldn’t remember his worries. Yet he kept himself still, ghosted his hands over Minhyun’s arms and held his breath, let it tangle in his chest as he waited for the other to speak.

        “Come with me,” he said, and Seongwoo’s hands froze, dropping against the warmth of his skin.

        The words came out all wrong, wrapped around each other like he couldn’t get them out fast enough. Seongwoo glanced up, and Minhyun tilted his head slightly, just enough that his hair fell into his eyes. When he spoke again, it was just a little louder, and there was a building rhythm in it, a syncopated melody that nearly sent a shiver through Seongwoo’s body.

        “We could blow this fucking house of cards to pieces. Build a new empire, just you and me at the top. No more rules, no more deceit, no more unseen masters.”

        When he was like this, it was hard to refuse him anything. It was hard to think that anything was out of their reach—they were immortal after all, nearly invincible, and sometimes it was too easy to forget the nearly in it all.

        But Seongwoo had been quiet for too long; even heaven had shadows, and he’d grown up in them. This fire of Minhyun’s, this thirst for more—it was ephemeral. A blaze of glory, nothing more. There was beauty in this, and it drew him like nothing ever had, but something else kept him rooted, paralyzed, unable to give it all up.

        So he didn’t say anything at all, didn’t tell him he was wrong, didn’t tell him he was right, just pulled him close. Lips to lips, it was far too easy to get him to forget about those dangerous dreams. This was where Seongwoo had the upper hand, in this thin flame that burned between them. He loosened one hand from his arm and slid it under his thin shirt, against the skin of his back, pushing him closer. It was a bit of a weakness, he thought; how Minhyun moaned into his mouth, how he smiled against it.

        And when it was over, when they were lying side by side with nothing but warmth between them, it was enough. Seongwoo allowed himself the thought that for now, Minhyun was satisfied by just him, by just this incendiary relationship and the chaos that bloomed within.

        It wouldn’t last long, and that tore at him a little bit, at the softness that still remained in his heart. But he wasn’t a mortal after all—he knew nothing good ever lasted, knew nothing worth holding onto ever lasted, and thought that for now, this was enough.

       

↣

        They were set partners in theology. Seongwoo wasn’t sure who set it, since he definitely wouldn’t have opted to be partnered with him. It was probably just an extension of the partners during the icebreaker activity, really. But he couldn’t help but attribute it to fate.

        Instead of a final, they had a partner project, a piece on varying expressions of faith in Seoul. It was a bit out of the ordinary for a theology exam, but not strictly hard. Or at least, it wouldn’t have been, if he’d been with a partner who wasn’t a raging ass.

        And yet.

        “Hey, church boy.”

        Minhyun seemed to appear out of nowhere sometimes, curling out of the shadows and reaching out a hand to tap his shoulder. Seongwoo flinched at the touch, at how the cold was unbearable even through his jacket. He glanced back at him, eyes narrowed. “What?”

        Minhyun grinned, voice sing-song when he spoke. He had a nice voice, Seongwoo thought, and immediately mentally berated himself. “We have a final to finish.”

        “Oh,” Seongwoo said, passing a hand over the back of his neck. “That.”

        The other hummed in agreement before taking his hand and linking it in his own, dragging him along. “Yep. That.”

        Seongwoo pulled his hand from Minhyun’s sharply, scowling at him. “One, cut it out. Two, where are you taking me?”

        “You’re no fun,” Minhyun returned, reaching forward to take his hand again. This time, Seongwoo let him. There was something still under the thin playfulness in his eyes, and he was curious how deep it ran. “And I thought we were going to your place. Where is your place, by the way?”

        Seongwoo stiffened, barely noticeable, and yet Minhyun caught it, sharp eyes dragged along his body. He squeezed Minhyun’s hand hard, dug his fingernails in just a bit, and let go. “Why? Don’t want to show me your cardboard box?”

        Amusement curled his lips. “Oh, I would, but it’s under renovation. I’m getting new tape for the flaps.”

        Seongwoo couldn’t help but smile at that, angry despite the curve of his mouth. Instead of saying anything more, he brushed past Minhyun and started towards his apartment at a brisk pace. He could hear Minhyun turning to catch up with him, light feet on pavement.

        But he couldn’t help but admit that when he fell in step beside him, his arm brushing against his, there was something soothing about that. Like this was something, like they were something. It had been a long time since Seongwoo had felt like that, and the thought made him nauseous.

        “Thought you could get rid of me, hmm?” Minhyun said, voice just slightly breathless.

        Seongwoo turned his head to face him, wrinkling his nose. “Thought I had.”

        Minhyun shoved him lightly, and he laughed at the force in it. It was bright, spilling out of him like he hadn’t laughed in ages, and really, he hadn’t. It unwound Minhyun a bit, pinked his cheeks when he thought Seongwoo wasn’t looking. Pride and embarrassment made the corners of his mouth twitch upwards, and it was a youth Seongwoo had never seen in him.

        His chest tightened, and he turned his face from him, walking down the street like he’d imagined it, like this was all a dream. But when Minhyun caught up with him again, when he took his arm in his and leaned his head into the crook of his neck like he belonged there, the tightness in his chest expanded, gave way to an all consuming warmth.

        He blew out a breath, let himself feel the burn of Minhyun’s skin instead of pushing it away. Maybe this time, things would end differently. There was no point in immortality if he lived every second holding his breath.

        It was foolish, though. There was pain wrought into this, into them, like what he’d had millennia before. Seongwoo wanted to think he’d learned from that, but maybe he hadn’t—maybe he’d just wiped it away and pretended he was someone new.

        Minhyun was quiet when they got to Seongwoo’s apartment. For all of his bravado and harsh remarks, he had nothing to say about the apparent mediocrity of it all, about the way the ceilings hung low and the drip of the leaking pipes created a soft rhythm.

        “What’s for lunch?” he called, curled into the sagging couch like it was his.

Seongwoo finished washing the pot and filled it up with water. “Package ramen.”

        “Yum,” he said, and after a few seconds, he heard the click of the remote and soft sounds from the television. “You don’t mind if I watch something, right? I haven’t seen a good drama in ages.”

        Seongwoo waved a hand in dismissal, before realizing Minhyun couldn’t see him. “Yeah, go ahead.”

        It was a bit too much, the déjà vu of it all. Memories flashed in Seongwoo’s mind, snapshots of overcooked porridge and late nights spent huddled in front of a fireplace that was never warm enough. He bit down on his lip hard, until it subsided, and when he looked down, the water was boiling.

        Minhyun ate like he hadn’t eaten in ages, and for the first time, Seongwoo noted the hollows of his collarbone, how his cheeks had flattened. It made his throat dry out, and he wondered if he could make up any more excuses to have him over for lunch.

        But he noticed the staring, and when he smiled, it was bright without warmth, a cold star of sorts. “Is that worry?”

        “And if it is?” Seongwoo said after a moment, fingers curled around a rip in his jeans.

        Minhyun laughed, and Seongwoo nearly dropped his chopsticks into his paper bowl. It wasn’t the laugh he usually reserved for him, a grating, chaotic sound that sounded like it could destroy. No, this was brighter, light where the other had been weighed down by bitterness. There was something familiar about it, and for the first time in weeks, in months, Seongwoo saw his Minhyun sitting in front of him.

        It was a sobering thought, a frightening realization seconds from fruition, but now, there was hope in it too.

        “You don’t need to worry about me, sweetheart,” he replied, before taking another bite of noodles. “Sometimes I forget to eat when I’m busy. I’ll be fine.”

        But there was something about that that unnerved him, about how Minhyun seemed to be two different people reconciled in one form, and instead of saying anything more about it, Seongwoo simply shoveled more ramen into his mouth. After a particularly big spoonful, he choked, hot soup hitting the back of his throat. Minhyun leaned over, quicker than he thought imaginable, hitting his back once, twice, until the blockage cleared.

        When he rocked back down on his heels, coughing until his throat went raw, Minhyun put his own bowl down, took a seat beside him and waited until it subsided. He passed a hand over his back softly, rubbing circles into the knotting muscles. Seongwoo glanced at him, tears forming in his eyes.

        Minhyun hesitated for a second, a question written into his body, before he leaned over, brushed the tears from his eyes. It was fire against water, the press of his thumb to the wet skin under his eyes, and Seongwoo willed himself to stay still, willed his heart not to burst from his chest. They stayed for a second like that, suspended in this single moment, like if they held their breath longer they could stay here forever.

        “Are you okay?” Minhyun asked, voice low and barely audible.

        “Is that—” Seongwoo broke off, coughing a bit more and leaning into Minhyun’s hand on his back. He stilled, abruptly, and looked over sharply like he could catch him in the act. He did; Minhyun’s eyes widened slightly, the soft worry dissipating out to neutrality and just a hint of fear. Seongwoo snaked a hand around Minhyun’s other wrist, wrapped his fingers around the skin and brushed the flat of his thumb against the inside of his forearm. “Is that worry?”

        Minhyun didn’t answer for a second, eyes focused on his wrist. Seongwoo couldn’t read him like that, long eyelashes obscuring his gaze. After a few moments, he pulled his other hand from Seongwoo’s back, untwined his fingers from his wrist and looked back up at him. When he spoke, there was nothing measurable in his voice, except for the way it wavered a bit at the end, and something in Seongwoo’s chest tangled at the sound. “Do you want it to be?”

        And Seongwoo didn’t answer that, he _couldn’t_ answer it, couldn’t do anything but sit there dumbly, eyes fixed on the place where his thumb met the side of Minhyun’s index fingers. It was a thin connection, just a brush of skin and their bodies so close he could hear Minhyun’s breaths come and go in the stagnant air of the apartment.

        After an indeterminable amount of time, Minhyun broke away, and Seongwoo didn’t look at him when he returned to the other side of the couch. There was a few minutes of the slurping of noodles, nothing more, and eventually, Seongwoo brought his chopsticks back to his mouth too. He was grateful for how he let the moment pass like it had been nothing, but just as resentful.

        “What do you major in?” Minhyun piped up, like it had never happened.

        Seongwoo put his bowl down, took a sip of water while thinking of an answer. “I don’t really have a major yet. I usually take one class, or two if I have time. My job takes up most of my free time.”

        Minhyun perked up at that. “You have a job?”

        “Curious?” Seongwoo said, lips twisting, and Minhyun reached over and punched his arm. He rubbed the spot for a moment, shot him a dark look, and continued. “It’s… free lance delivery?  Kinda like a middleman for people who don’t want to deal with the postal service. I’m faster, anyway. The hours are pretty unpredictable, though.”

        Minhyun whistled low. “Planning to put FedEx out of business?”

        Seongwoo cracked a grin. “Maybe. What about you, what do you major in?”

        “Sociology,” he replied, after sucking up another noodle. “Humans are just so damn interesting, don’t you think?”

        “You say that like you aren’t one,” Seongwoo returned, dropping a chopstick into his bowl and willing his heart to stay put. _It’s not him, it’s not him, it’s not—_

        “I’m not,” he answered, glancing over and offering a cheeky grin. “I’m a robot.”

        Seongwoo froze, and glanced at him. Minhyun’s grin just widened, and he put down his empty bowl before moving closer. “Can I have your ramen if you’re done with it?”

        “I’m not?”

        Minhyun glanced up at him, before snatching the bowl from him and tilting it against his lips. Seongwoo swore, dropped his chopsticks against his thigh and tried to take it back. The remainder of the soup sloshed in the bowl, splashing against the edge of his hand. He whined at the odd, almost lukewarm sensation, and scowled at Minhyun.

        The other was grinning at him, a laugh on the tip of his tongue as he pulled the bowl back and drained it. For some reason, Seongwoo wasn’t that angry, watching him smack his lips and put it down on the table with a finality.

        “You done?” he grumbled.

        Minhyun nodded, smile almost feline. “We should probably get started on our project now. I have work in a couple hours.”

        Seongwoo couldn’t help the curiosity that bubbled up in him, but said nothing more. Minhyun picked up on it, though, adding, “It’s not that big of a deal, just some filing, but I like to stay on top of my work.”

        After that, they started on the project. There was two portions; background research, and a portion that required analysis of information they were supposed to collect themselves. They got the research over with, and decided to visit a shrine for the second part.

        The shrine was far from Seongwoo’s place, on the outskirts of the city. He’d been there once, half dead and in need of a trip up. It was a good gate, if a bit old. He hadn’t been able to get the smell of tea leaves off of him for weeks.

        “When are you free to go?” Seongwoo asked after they’d finished the research, closing his laptop with an almost cathartic slam.

        Minhyun shifted, discomfort stiffening his movements. When he spoke, his voice was just a bit unsteady, anxious in a way that wouldn’t have been apparent to a mortal. “Is it okay if I just do the analysis? Shrines make me nervous.”

        Seongwoo should’ve known then, really. It was all too perfect, a puzzle that he never wanted to see put together. But it had come together anyway, warning signs that he’d ignored flashing in front of his face, and the truth following just behind.

        “Why?”

        Minhyun blinked. “Um… Bad experiences. When I was younger.”

        Seongwoo wanted to ask: _Why do you look like him?_ He wanted to ask: _Why do you act like him? Why do you let me believe you aren’t?_ He wanted to ask: _Who are you?_

        Instead, he just said, “Okay. I’ll send you the pictures and my notes.”

        Minhyun smiled, a hint of relief coloring it, and despite it all, Seongwoo’s heart lifted. “Thanks.”

↣

        Seongwoo went to the shrine that night, heart tangled into knots too old to unwind. It was too easy, when he wasn’t his Minhyun. It was too easy to fall in love, to forget his regrets and how they’d fallen apart. It was too easy, he thought, to let history repeat when you had a blindfold on.

        There was a gate at the opening, the one he’d used to travel up. He brushed his hand over the lacquered wood, over the grooves and the peeling paint. Déjà vu threatened to consume him, both from his thoughts and from simply being there.

        It was near dusk when he walked in, the dregs of sunlight painting the sky a myriad of blues and golds. He pulled out his phone and took a few photos, for the sake of it. He’d just make up his notes on the walk home; he knew this place, knew all the shrines. There was no real observation to be done when he had the images pressed against the insides of his eyelids. Theology had always been an easy A; he took it for the mortals more than the learning experience.

        Minhyun had been right about that—humans _were_ interesting. They just tackled their curiosities in different ways.

        It had been a strange statement, anyway. The way he’d said it, like he was dangling his identity just beside Seongwoo, waiting for him to realize, to wake up. It was a dangerous game, the one they were playing, confessions written in between the lines.

        Seongwoo knelt in front of the altar in the center of the shrine, pressed his hands together and prayed like it would bring him clarity. Like it would dissipate his regret, erase his mistakes and give him a whole new life. He wished he was mortal sometimes, wished he had the ability to die and be reborn. He was too tired of this life; of his flaws and the blood under his fingernails.

        He prayed for this not to be his Minhyun; prayed for it to be him.

        And yet, no matter how long he sat there, knees succumbing to numbness and fingers biting into skin, he knew the truth.

        Because they were the same—his Minhyun, and this one. Where the former had been all gold and glory, this one was quieter, sharper where his had been soft. And it only made sense for the darkness below to tear holes in a youth with stars in his eyes and dreams in his heart. For scar tissue to build and mend over the holes, for rounded edges to turn sharp and for shadows to cut a new shape out of a fallen angel.

        They were the same; they had the same brightness in their eyes, a carefully controlled chaos in their veins. They were the same, beautiful yet frightening, beautiful _because_ of the fear they commanded. And Seongwoo, he’d only fallen for one man, but he’d been hurt twice, and sitting here, dread and happiness—regret and hope—mingled in his heart.

        There was no point in running from a truth like this. It would haunt him, gold eyes and umber ones blinking in his dreams. Fate had some sadistic affection for agony, often among mortals, but especially among angels.

        And yet, he knew, even if he’d known earlier, he wouldn’t have run.

        Really, he’d known along, noted the little quirks they had in common and the way his touch made him burn. But it hadn’t mattered, in the end, just like it hadn’t mattered the last time. It didn’t matter how many times he burnt himself on this flame, because he’d always come back, hand outstretched and fingers darkening from the fire.

        The thought should’ve frightened him, made him equal parts ashamed and afraid, and yet it brought nothing, just a quiet thrumming in his heart. There was energy in this stillness, a breath held and beginning to tangle. The shrine had gone quiet, the tinkling of the fountain trickling out to silence.

        The silence said: _What are you going to do now?_

        Seongwoo pulled himself to his feet, shook out the tightness in his joints and slowly walked out of the shrine. Night had fallen a long time ago, and the lamps cast the place in a soft gold.

        When he got to the gate, he found he wasn’t alone.

        “Jisung,” Seongwoo said. There was little surprise in his voice, even less of a question. They both knew why he was here.

        “Seongwoo,” the other angel returned. His wings were out, meaning he’d been in enough of a rush not to lock them before coming down. He had a single hand leaned against the post of the gate, hair mussed but not tangled. “Do you know why I’m here?”

        Seongwoo shrugged, and it was a play at deceit. “Nope.”

        Jisung frowned, but there was no anger in it, only a permeating kind of disappointment. “Do you know what you’re doing? With—With him?”

        His lips parted, twisted as if to smile sharply, before dropping down to neutrality. “I do, actually. I think for the first time, I do know what I’m doing.”

        Jisung blinked, surprised and yet there was some measure of fear in it. It wasn’t the first time he’d shown fear towards Seongwoo—sometimes, he thought Jisung was the only angel other than Minhyun who’d ever taken him seriously. When he spoke though, there was only weariness. “I hope you do. For your sake, and for his.”

        Without another word, he disappeared, and all that was left was the faint scent of blossoms and a single feather. Seongwoo knelt beside it, picked it up and rolled the down of it between his fingers. Then he pocketed it, and began the walk home.

↣

        Lost souls didn’t take a long time to track down. It was an unsavory activity, filing their identities and sending them down, but Minhyun didn’t trust anyone else to do it.

        When he finished it was almost midnight, and he was far from home, some penthouse in the city center that he paid for with charmed bills. It was hard to call it home when it was only a place where he stayed—he hadn’t really had a home for millennia, not since he was cast down. He didn’t like staying in the same place after that; everything became stagnant sooner or later, and silence had always been too heavy for his liking.

        He could’ve walked—could’ve called a taxi, could’ve spent a bit of black magic, could’ve found the nearest club and not gone home at all.

        But he was on the edges of the city, and when he closed his eyes, all he could think of was blossoms, red paint, and tea leaves.

        It was cold when he arrived. Winter was beginning to set in, and soft white flakes coated the gate and the structures inside. The gate wasn’t locked, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to enter. But he still pressed his hand flat against the air, waiting for it to warp and push him back. It was a light spark, a quick sting of pain and nothing more—the wards weren’t that strong.

        He could’ve gone home, then. Being this close to a shrine was already making him uncomfortable, and he pressed two fingers to his chest as if that would slow his heart. It was nothing more than three or four wards and the smell of divinity, a hint of magic and too many memories for him to bear.

        But tonight, he took his hand from his chest, pressed it back against the barrier and _pushed._

        It seared his hand, blistering the skin until he could see the edges go red and orange. He gritted his teeth and kept it there, until his fingertips met cool air and the wards fell. He dropped his hand, gasping from the pain, and held it to his chest.

        It was a mess, and the sight of it made him nauseous, so he simply kept his eyes on the shrine and passed a healing hand over the other. Using black magic near a shrine was sacrilegious, an act so terrible it was akin to scorning God himself. But Minhyun had never held much respect for Him.

        His heart was still beating fast, threatening to burst from his chest. It was hard to call it a fire; he just knew that for the first time in millennia, there was something bright where there had only been a void, and it was frightening.

        Minhyun passed his hand through the gate another time, and once he was sure there was nothing but cold air, took a tentative step into the shrine. He hadn’t knocked down all of the wards, not yet, and he swallowed bile as he took successive steps. It was almost painful, and he had to lean against one of the walls to steady himself, wincing at how even that burned his skin.

        “Why are you here?”

        Minhyun smiled without looking up, bitterness stretching his mouth into a humorless grimace. “Well, well. That didn’t take long.”

        Jisung took another step towards him, hand outstretched to tilt his face up. Minhyun caught him halfway, wrapped his fingers around his wrist and kept him at arm’s length. Jisung glanced between his blackening wrist and Minhyun’s face before dropping his hand. “You didn’t answer my question.”

        Minhyun shrugged. “I was curious. I haven’t been here myself in a long time.”

        “And?” Jisung asked, because the Minhyun he’d known had never done things without ulterior motives.

        But they’d last met millennia ago, and they’d never known each other well to begin with. “And, nothing. Just here for the sake of it.”

        Jisung’s expression shifted then, a hint of melancholy showing in his eyes. “Minhyun?”

        “Mm?” he asked, pulling his hand from the wall and stumbling until he managed to steady himself again. He coughed once, low and harsh, before glancing back up at Jisung. One of his hands was outstretched, as if to help him, but they both knew that the touch would hurt them both.

        “Are you…” he hesitated, brought up a hand and pulled it through his hair before continuing. It was uncharacteristically messy—Minhyun hadn’t remembered Jisung ever being messy. “Are you happier where you are now?”

        Minhyun stilled, eyes focused on the cobbled ground below him. His ragged breathing was the only sound for a second, the scratchy cough of his lungs and the faraway trickle of the fountain in the center of the shrine. Then he straightened himself up, winced at the strain on his back, before replying. “Hell isn’t much different from heaven, really. But down there, the demons don’t try to hide themselves.”

        Jisung stiffened at that, lips twisting harshly. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, yet cold. “You should leave.”

        That was the Jisung he knew—kind, yet unrepenting. He grinned at him, all harsh light, leaned back against the wall momentarily before forcing himself over to a statue beside the entrance. He fingered the cold stone, let his pupils widen and his whites disappear before he brushed the tips of his fingers against the figure. Where he touched it, the cool grey blackened and deteriorated, small bits of black detritus sticking to his fingers. He pulled his hand away and rubbed it between his fingers before looking back at Jisung.

        Jisung was quiet, and there was an uneasiness woven into his stance, into the way his gaze flitted from Minhyun’s fingers to his eyes and back. Minhyun could almost sense it, the discord hanging in the air between them. It was chaos seconds before it broke loose, and he’d long ago accustomed himself to it. It was something he _knew_ , now, a familiar point in this disorienting environment. Jisung wasn’t hunched over about to pass out, but they both knew he had the upper hand right now.

        Minhyun leaned his hand back against the statue and let it come apart in his fingers. The arm of the figure had worn thin by this point, a carefully sculpted limb turned to crumbling stone. Jisung’s lips parted, as if to tell him to stop. Minhyun just pressed harder for a fraction of a second, and then let go.

        He clapped his hands together, let the dust fall from his palms, and glanced back up at the other angel. “I don’t understand, really.”

        “What?” Jisung asked, and his voice was surprisingly hoarse.

        “Why you’re all insisting on maintaining this—this façade of perfection,” Minhyun replied, and his voice was smooth, almost flippant. But there was a fire below it, a pulsing intensity that made Jisung look at him with a renewed sense of unease, and a bit of sadness. “When you’re all rotting underneath.”

        Jisung opened his mouth, as if to protest, but before he could say anything else, Minhyun slipped his hand in his pocket and drew out a dark stone. He pressed it against the inside of his wrist before throwing up a hand in farewell and a last razor sharp grin. “I’ll see you later.”

        After he left, there was only the quiet sound of the trickling fountain and, after a few minutes, a long drawn out sigh.

↢

        Everything fell apart, sooner or later. Life was lived in the moments between chaos, split seconds of peace that seemed to last forever until forever wasn’t enough. Seongwoo knew this, yet when it happened, he was frozen as everything came apart around him.

        The sun was lowering in the sky when he returned to the seraph dorms. He’d been out for a week or so, on a particularly long job with far too much eavesdropping than he was used to. He was taking a different path, one that cut around the city in an arc. A scenic route, if it could be called that. It was a bright day, but silent. There was a stillness in the air that worried him, breaths held and lying in wait.

        When he opened the door, Jisung was sitting at the nook table, arms folded and head hung. He glanced up when he came in, lips parting in shock and something more—dread. He rose to his feet, yet hesitated before walking to him, something heavy dragging him down.

        “What’s wrong?” Seongwoo asked cautiously, lingering in the doorway. Outside, he could hear the faint sound of shouting and looked over his shoulder. Jisung reached behind him and shut the door, ushering him into the living room.

        He was silent for a moment, brows drawn together and muscles tensed. Seongwoo stared at him, anxiety beginning to build in his gut. Jisung reached out a hand to pat his shoulder, and Seongwoo unconsciously twisted away, mouth flattening into a line. “I asked you what was wrong.”

        Jisung blew out a breath. “It’s Minhyun.”

        Seongwoo’s stomach bottomed out and he opened his mouth to say something, to ask where he was, what had happened, but Jisung only put up a hand before continuing. “He… he’s trying to take down God.”

        Even the words sounded foolish, yet they made Seongwoo’s chest tighten.

        “I don’t know how he did it, where he got the backup, but there’s hundreds of angels behind him. And knowing him—I’m not going to say it’s impossible, is all. But Daniel’s after him, said he was going to banish him, or kill him, I don’t know—”

        “Where are they?” Seongwoo said, and the words tumbled out of his mouth, desperate at best. He took a step forward, and Jisung took a step backward, stance gone stiff.

        “I don’t know,” Jisung said shakily, passing a hand over his face wearily. “Sungwoon went out to look for them, I’ve been watching the house. In case you got home, or one of them came back. But it’s been hours, and the fighting’s only gotten worse. It’s mostly between the youth, fistfights and all that. I don’t know where Minhyun and Daniel are, but I don’t think they’ve found each other. I think we’ll be able to tell when that happens.”

        The last sentence reverberated in his chest a bit, made his next inhale a little too difficult. Images flashed in his head, ichor and chains and tears gone red. Angels weren’t easy to kill, and he had a hunch that Daniel would draw his death out far too long, out of some sense of twisted allegiance, out of an old rivalry gone sour. When he spoke, there was a lump in his throat and it weighed down his voice, made it scratch against even his own ears. “I’m—I’m going to be in my room. Tell me if they… if they’re finished.”

        Jisung simply nodded, and Seongwoo brushed past him. There was a roaring building in his ears, and his skin felt tight—as if he could burst into flame at any moment, as if he could disappear from this. But there was a dread wrapping around his heart, too, chains tangling around his lungs.

_He’ll be okay. He’s always been okay. He’ll survive._

        Seongwoo repeated the words in his mind like a mantra, like a prayer that would keep him safe. Yet he knew it was no use. He’d played this mortal game, feigned love before losing himself to it, and all these wishes, these hopes, were just products of that. The part of him that was immortal, that had seen countless empires build to an acme and fall in the next second, knew there was no saving Minhyun.

        Whether Daniel killed him or not, this was the end of what they had.

        He didn’t think he’d die, really. Minhyun was too slippery, and at the core of that burning flame, there was solid obsidian. But the burning youth he’d carried, all his unspoiled ambitions and impossible dreams—there was no saving that.

        Seongwoo thought to mourn it, but figured there would be time enough for that later.

        Somehow, he knew it would be there before he entered. It was a bit of hope lingering in his heart, that shard of lovesickness lodged in his chest that made him struggle through every breath. Even when he saw it, he felt no satisfaction that he’d known; just sadness that he knew Minhyun that well.

        It was written on a scrap of parchment, yet the print was neat. It was crinkled at the edges—he must’ve written multiple drafts before deciding on this one. Something about that made him want to smile, but he couldn’t muster anything.

        He read it through once, twice, until he knew the words like his own name. The paper was wet when he’d finished, tears staining and smearing the ink in spots. He rubbed over a smudge with a thumb, let it take away the moisture. It was warped where he’d changed it, and even that brought fresh tears to his eyes.

        Immortals, he thought, should never play at mortal games.

        They were too unskilled, clumsy and stiff where humans gave their everything. The moon looked close enough to touch to them, impossibilities on the tips of their fingers, and with one life, one heart, there was no time for patience. And Minhyun, a young immortal with bright eyes and hands stretched up to a gaping sky—he’d never faltered, not the way Seongwoo did, pressed against the shadows like they’d shield him.

        Immortality had always looked alluring to the mortals, an eternity littered with opportunities they could never have. But it came with fear and unwillingness, breaths held for millennia at a time, and love, love was often just a pretense of affection and words offered absentmindedly at the end of the day.

        But when immortals fell in love, they fell harder than mortals could imagine. Because everything always felt like forever to them—their love felt like forever. There was an arrogance in immortality, a notion of latent invincibility that never truly appeared. But to be immortal didn’t mean one was invincible, it just meant death came harder, stronger, longer.

        But the worst thing about this love, about the irony woven through it, was the cowardice.

        Pain came at his wrist, and Seongwoo saw that he’d ripped part of the edge of the letter and dug his thumbnail into his skin. A drop of ichor beaded, and the sight made him angry for some reason. After the moment passed, he simply wiped it away and folded the letter before leaving it on his nightstand.

        He moved to his window, pulled open the curtains, and watched the city fall apart.


	3. into eternal darkness.

_do not suppose that i have come to bring peace to the earth. i did not come to bring peace, but a sword._

_\- matthew 10:34-36 / NIV_

 

        They didn’t see each other for a few days.

        Minhyun wasn’t in class, and Seongwoo had back to back jobs, ones that stretched so long he didn’t feel human, didn’t feel real at all. The easy ones were sandwiched between the longer ones, small deliveries and intel offered in hotel rooms with bathrooms that cost more than his apartment. He didn’t like seeing blood wash down the drain, but it was easier to stomach when the sink was porcelain.

        “Do you need Tylenol?” One of his clients had asked him, when he’d stumbled into their meeting place with a 103 fever and Band-Aids plastered up and down his right arm.

        He’d managed a smile, hoping it was stronger than he felt. “I’m fine. Water would be nice, though.”

        It was mainly just fatigue, minor injuries, and dehydration, at the heart of it all. The gore had stopped affecting him after a while, but he couldn’t say he enjoyed the sight.

        When they saw each other again, it was at night.

        The sky was empty, just a sliver of a crescent moon and nothing more. Seongwoo had woken up an hour prior, after crashing for nearly sixteen hours straight. His phone had died after the thirtieth phone call, all worried text messages and vaguely threatening pleas for him to _please pick the fuck up._

        He’d thought to answer them, but the light was bright in the near darkness of his apartment, and nausea was already beginning to settle in his stomach. So he’d simply texted a quick explanation to Jisung, and hoped he’d tell the others, before taking a long shower. He’d fallen asleep a couple times, torn fingernails scrabbling for purchase against the tile. It should’ve been more nauseating, to see the dirt and blood go down the drain. But there was a sense of detachment to it—the past days had become a blur.

        It was only when he came out of the shower, looked at himself in the mirror, when he truly came to terms with everything that had passed.

        His eyes were slightly sunken, red at the corners from oversleep, and there was a sharpness to him that hadn’t been there before. It always seemed to surface after the long jobs. Heaven and earth both had shadows, dark alleys brimming with secrets. Humans, even the other angels, didn’t have to deal with them, not usually. It was easy to delude yourself into thinking they didn’t exist when you lived in the light. Even Sungwoon and Jisung didn’t know the details of his job, and all Daniel knew was that he didn’t want to do it.

        Seongwoo liked pretending he was like them, like the mortals too. He liked going to university classes and buying ice cream cones with paper money from clients who didn’t like gold. But eventually, those moments of peace passed, and he was left with this, the ultimatum of his existence.

        A long time ago, he’d disliked it. Now, it just made him weary.

        It was then, looking into the void in his eyes, when he remembered what he’d realized at the shrine. Something expanded in his chest when he thought of it, regrets and hopes and wishes he thought he’d left behind resurfacing so quickly he couldn’t breathe.

        Before he knew what he was doing, he’d dressed and left the apartment. There was a buzzing in his blood, hundreds of thoughts running through his brain and clouding the last remnants of rational thought he had. There was just this; a love he’d thought he’d lost, and an almost overwhelming sense of youth.

        In hindsight, there was such a high chance that he could’ve gotten there to find the place empty, or at the very least, to find Minhyun not there. But fate didn’t work like that, at least not for them, and when he opened the door, wincing at the strain on his bruised shoulders, the fallen angel was facing the other wall and nursing another cocktail.

        Jihoon was wiping down a table, but he threw up a hand when he saw Seongwoo. “Your usual?”

        He just nodded, because he didn’t think he’d be able to say anything in proper Korean if he tried to speak. Minhyun stiffened at the bar, for a fraction of a second, before turning to face him. His hand was bandaged, all old gauze and torn cloth. It was rested on the wooden bar counter, loosely wrapped around his near full drink. Yet there was something unsteady about him, something untethered about his gaze.

        Then he looked at Seongwoo, and it focused, sudden intensity directed only at him. It should’ve frightened him, that kind of energy from the devil himself. But it didn’t, and he took a step forward, moving until they were barely a foot apart. Jihoon set down a drink beside him, glancing between them before disappearing into the store room. Something about that sat wrong with him, but it was the least of his concerns—he was trustworthy anyway.

        Minhyun looked down at him, and there was a question in his eyes. They were both holding their breath, waiting for the other to speak, waiting for something between them to change.

        _What are you so afraid of?_

        The thought—the memory—was almost painful, and when Seongwoo brought the glass of soju to his lips, he nearly choked on the drink.  Minhyun reached out a hand to steady him, and it weighed heavily on his shoulder. It would’ve been grounding, if not for the pressure.

        He pulled it off him, placed it back on the counter between them, and took another sip of his drink before putting it down. When he looked up at Minhyun, he hoped it all came through—the remnants of raw emotion that lingered behind his smooth mortal façade. It was most visible now, after he’d washed himself clean. But Minhyun’s gaze was unreadable, smooth brown and nothing more—it would’ve annoyed Seongwoo, if it’d been anyone else.

        But it was him, and he simply drew in a breath before speaking. “You’re him, right?”

        Minhyun raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”

        Except he did, and this was just a bait, a game like the ones he loved so much, and despite everything, the familiarity of it sent a warmth through Seongwoo’s stomach. “The Minhyun I knew in heaven. Not the same one, but the same body. The same life. Are you him?”

        Minhyun blinked at him and finished his cocktail silently. “I thought you knew.”

        Seongwoo gritted his teeth and took another swig of his drink, hoping it would give him confidence, give him _something._ “I… I didn’t—”

        He broke off, cut his gaze away and focused his eyes on the wall, on the tick of the clock. It was three minutes to midnight. When he looked back at Minhyun, he was still waiting, almost patiently.

        “I didn’t,” Seongwoo managed. “I didn’t want to believe it. Back then.”

        He waited for the _‘Why?’._ For the sadness, and the accusatory glance, and the dismissive brush past him. For them to disappear from each other’s lives as quickly as they’d come back into them. For this night, and the months that’d led up to it, to fade into their memories leaving nothing but a void.

        It never came.

        A hand, reached out and barely touching his jaw, tilting him up so that he had no choice but to look at him. There was barely anything in Minhyun’s eyes, neutrality and the faintest hint of smoke. Seongwoo wondered, absentmindedly, what it would take to turn those embers into a fire.

        “And now?” he said, his voice so low it was nearly inaudible.

        Seongwoo’s heart stuttered in his chest for a fraction of a second—it all felt surreal, like it would all fall apart if he simply exhaled.

        But he was used to that—used to waiting, and watching things around him fall apart. It had been a long time since he had taken a step forward, since he’d left the shadows. He figured it was worth it; for Minhyun, it was worth it.

        He looked up, looped his arms around Minhyun’s neck and brought his face so close their noses almost touched. There was a bit of silence then, a split second of hesitation before Seongwoo leaned forward and kissed him.

        Minhyun was still against his lips for a moment, still and yet not stiff, before he drew him closer with his other hand and deepened the kiss. There was hunger in it, ferocity and eagerness mingled, and it should’ve scared him, made him want to leave then and there. But Seongwoo only tightened his grip on Minhyun’s hair, pushed forward until they were chest to chest, skin to skin.

        It felt like forever, this push and pull like nothing he’d felt for millennia. It was natural, muscle memory that he’d thought he’d left behind. For a moment, Seongwoo almost forgot where he was, who they were and the time that’d passed since they’d last done this. Minhyun leaned forward, pushing him back slightly, and a hand snaked out to steady himself on the bar. Seongwoo bit down lightly on the edge of his lips, and despite it all, a small moan escaped him. The sound only made him smile against his lips.

        Eventually they broke apart, foreheads pressed together and eyes cast down. Seongwoo felt as if he’d been lit on fire, and his breaths came shallowly as he stared at the cool brown wood of the bar. Minhyun was similarly winded, and for a moment, the only sound was their heavy breathing, and the tick of the clock in the corner of the bar.

        Seongwoo forced himself to look up at him, to come to terms with what they’d just done. Minhyun returned his gaze; it wasn’t a blank coldness like it’d been only minutes ago. There was a broken youth to it, a desperation and a weariness that reminded him that he was still younger than him. He was old, older than fallen empires, and yet it didn’t matter.

        There was something unspoken hanging between them now, confessions spilled in the warm air and a question lying beneath it. Minhyun asked, “What are we?”

        It was an unanswerable question, really. They both knew it; they were impossible, their stars crossed out of pure spite. They were perpendicular lines, meant to cross once, and never again. And yet here they were again, like they could beat fate, like they could make something for themselves. But divinity had never cared much for love.

        And Seongwoo had never cared much for divinity.

        “Something worth holding onto,” he said, so firmly that Minhyun glanced up at him sharply. He had never been the one with dreams, with faith, between them. But he was tired of cynicism, of living in the shadows.

        Minhyun sucked in a breath, then blew it out. “Do you mean that?”

        Seongwoo took his hands in his, ran a thumb over the bandages without looking up. “Yeah. This time, I do.”

↣

        When they got back to Seongwoo’s apartment, it was far past midnight. The dim moonlight cast everything in hazy white, and the shadows seemed darker than they’d been before.

        Seongwoo switched on the light as Minhyun ducked into the living room, glancing around like it was the first time he’d seen it. He didn’t blame him—there was something different about it, about them. Like everything up to now had been a dream, and now they were awake.

        He walked around a bit, tidied up the mess he’d made before falling asleep. Shame threatened to burn his cheeks, but he kept his eyes down as Minhyun wandered around the apartment. After a few minutes, arms circled around his waist, pulling him back from his cleaning.

        “Are you done?” he asked, but it wasn’t a question.

        “Yeah,” Seongwoo breathed, and though he couldn’t see him, somehow he knew Minhyun was smiling.

        Even his bedroom was a mess, and the sight made him wince uncomfortably. But Minhyun only raised his eyebrows in amusement. On another day, he would’ve complained about it, picked up the socks and hangers himself. But today, he simply took a seat on the unmade bed, and waited.

        There was a power in that, he knew. It made Seongwoo’s throat close up, and heat unfolded in the base of his stomach, but he kept himself still for a few seconds. Then he walked to the bed, took a seat behind him, and turned Minhyun to face him.

        The trust in his eyes was equal parts frightening and heady, and Seongwoo thought he might get drunk off of it. Yet there was still a stiffness in his movements, in the way he hesitated before he kissed him then. He had never been good at putting his all into things, into letting things carry him away.

        But when Minhyun broke away, brushed his thumb against the flat of his cheek, something in Seongwoo snapped. A breath he’d held for centuries, for millennia, blown out in a fraction of a second. And suddenly he was pulling him back against his lips, kissing him harder than he had in the bar, harder than he had back when they’d been young and meant to last forever. There was a desperation in his touches, a fervor that Minhyun matched from kiss to kiss.

        Seongwoo turned him around again, pulled him so close that he could feel the warmth of his back against his chest and pressed his lips to his ear. “Can you take it off?”

        Minhyun shivered just at the words, at the breath against his skin, and Seongwoo couldn’t help but smile against his neck. His fingers were shaking slightly as he undid the buttons on his shirt, and he reached out a hand to help him. Minhyun’s hand stilled for a second, and then he resumed.

        When he was done, he pulled it off, threw it to a corner of the room. The desperation of it was cute, and Seongwoo turned his face to kiss him once before running his hands down his back.

        He let out a choked breath, not a moan but close enough, and Seongwoo wondered aloud how long it had been since he’d let himself do this.

        “Long enough,” he muttered, voice unbearably hoarse, and he bit back a laugh.

        “Really?” Seongwoo murmured against his skin. “Too long?”

        He nodded, the shaky motion sending a ripple through his back. Seongwoo left him like that, beautiful yet exposed, and moved to the bathroom. He found the lube and condoms in one of the drawers, but before he returned to the bedroom he glanced up at the mirror. It could’ve been the dregs of fatigue, the desire beginning to pound through his body. It could’ve been one of a hundred thousand things that darkened his face that way, and yet when he saw his reflection, he couldn’t recognize himself. There was a fire in his eyes that he’d never had before—a ferocity that he’d never been able to pick up.

        Absentmindedly, he wondered what that meant for tomorrow, for every day after this. What it meant for him and Minhyun; what it meant for him and the others.

        Seongwoo blew out a breath, like it would somehow untangle the knot in his chest, before turning off the light and opening the door back to his bedroom.

↢

        The letter had told him to come to the hill, the night it all happened. Seongwoo wasn’t sure how long this had gone on, how long it had been since the day he’d fallen. But he went anyway, once the sun had disappeared and the sky was bright with stars and smoke.

        Angelic war was a rare thing—he’d only ever heard of it, and he’d been around for a long time. He should’ve known that if anyone were to cause it, it would’ve been Minhyun. He had known, yet it hadn’t made a change.

        Seongwoo waited until Jisung had fallen asleep, then stood by the window and jumped himself to the city limits. It was a long jump, especially after a week long job, and he fell to his knees once he was there. The air was thick, caustic in a way that stung his nostrils painfully. There was a far off sound of shouting, of screams and grunts, and Seongwoo flattened himself to the stone walls until he was sure that he could pull himself to his feet.

        Their hill wasn’t right beside the perimeter, and once Seongwoo got over the fence, it took him a few minutes to find it. He hadn’t expected Minhyun to be there already, hadn’t really expected him to be there at all.

        But he was, knees half folded and his hands cupping his face, elbows balanced on kneecaps. The grass blew under him, brushing against his sides lightly. His uniform was ripped in places, blood drying on his skin, yet he didn’t move. Seongwoo thought there was something poignant about it, something youthful, as if they weren’t fighting a war, as if everything wasn’t falling apart, as if he wasn’t about to _die_.

        The word sent a jolt through him, and he gritted his teeth to push the thought from his brain. At that moment, Minhyun glanced behind him, eyes catching on Seongwoo’s form. The night had darkened, and Seongwoo was more a shadow than anything else, an outline of an angel and the burning city behind him.

        “You’re here,” Minhyun called, and his voice was thin, almost reedy. It wavered in the air, in the hint of a breeze, and for a moment, Seongwoo felt more than immortal, felt like this moment could’ve been forever, like they could’ve been forever.

        “Yeah,” he replied, a scratchy sound and nothing more. He moved to take a seat, but Minhyun pulled himself to his feet. He brushed off his clothes, but there was nothing but dried blood on the cloth, and for some reason the sight nauseated him.

        There was still distance between them, a couple of feet that felt like an ocean. They were different now—both of them separately, and together. Their paths had never been together, and yet they’d brushed once, impossibly. Minhyun’s gaze was heavy on Seongwoo, bright and yet sad, and he wondered what he’d seen today, what he’d felt.

        But he crossed the grass still, took Seongwoo’s hands in his and looked up. There was still a hint of burning youth there, of a desperation that Seongwoo had never seen in an angel. Immortals had never needed a reason to be desperate—it was a mortal emotion, the feeling of time slipping past and opportunities rotting in one’s hands.

        He leaned forward, and Seongwoo stilled for a moment as he pressed his lips to his. It was chaste, skin to skin. But there was something drawn out about it, his mind short circuiting as it digested all the implications of the kiss.

        _This was the last time._

        “Come with me,” Minhyun said when he pulled away, and his voice was just slightly breathless. Water dripped against his cheek, and it could’ve been a tear if not for the downpour beginning to come down around them. “Come with me, _please,_ Seongwoo.”

        “Minhyun, we don’t have time,” he said, and after the first word, they kept coming, anxiety and worry mangling his pronunciation and the spaces between his sentences. “You don’t have time, he’s going to find you, he’s going to—he’s going to kill you, you have to go, you have to _hide—”_

“He won’t,” Minhyun promised, cutting in, and Seongwoo’s heart dropped. He’d known he would be stubborn—he’d known he would say no, he’d known that he would fall not here but soon, at the hands of some foreign angel with blood on his hands. And yet he’d hoped. Like some goddamn fool, he’d hoped. He spoke again, and his words were more hurried. “Just come with me. We can get away from here, you know we can, it’s not fucking _impossible.”_

But it was. For him, it was, and the mere idea constricted his chest so tight he swore he could see stars. Or maybe that was just Minhyun’s eyes, bright and twinkling from the rain and from the tears. He couldn’t leave—he was tied down to this city, to this world and these rules. He was held to a different standard than the others, that was true enough—yet he couldn’t simply break free from it all, from this tangled web that fate had set up. But it was cowardice, in the end. An angel’s fear and a love that couldn’t compare.

        “I can’t,” he whispered, and his voice nearly broke at the end. Minhyun’s face fell for a moment, before he reshaped it into something strong and beautiful, like he’d always done. He spoke again, and it was barely a voice at all, hoarse and cracking at the edges. “I can’t leave everyone, I can’t leave, I just— Minhyun, I can’t.”

        “Even for me?” he asked, and it would’ve been a taunt in any other moment, in any other universe, from anyone else. But from him, it was a last hope flickering in the cold night air. It was a question that had already been answered, a tragedy that had already been written into their stars.

        Seongwoo inhaled, and it was shaky, and he ached to reach out a hand to steady himself on Minhyun’s shoulder, to _anchor_ himself somehow. But he figured he might as well begin to wean himself off of his presence now, and he clenched his hands as he looked up at him again, at those bright eyes and the nothingness behind him. “Can’t you stay?”

        Minhyun laughed, and it was trembling all over. “You know I can’t.”

        “So—” Seongwoo started before cutting himself off again, avoiding Minhyun’s gaze even as the other reached forward and took his arms in his hands. “So this is it, then?”

        “For now,” Minhyun said quietly, but he really meant ‘forever’ and the word hung unspoken between them. The air was all rainwater and smoke, and Seongwoo’s throat closed at the acrid smell.

        “Then,” Seongwoo whispered, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to Minhyun’s. It was wet, the warmth of his forehead and the rainwater against his skin. “Then let me say goodbye properly.”

        Minhyun nodded against him, and Seongwoo tilted his head and kissed him once. It wasn’t as chaste as before, but there was something bittersweet about it, a finality that seemed to ring true in their motions.

        When they pulled apart, Minhyun’s gaze was already faraway. Seongwoo moved his hands down his shoulders, until all that remained was his fingers held tight in his own. Then, he let go.

        He wished that was the last time they saw each other sometimes. He wished he could reduce their love to that one moment on the hill, to tears and rain and dreams fallen to dust.

        Seongwoo left him like that, facing the clouds on the east side, as he walked back to the remains of their city.

↣

        When Seongwoo woke up, one arm still twined around Minhyun’s waist, it was nearing five in the morning. It was still dark outside, but it was streaked with dark grays. The streetlights from outside cast their room in strips of silver and white—it would’ve been beautiful, if it wasn’t eerie.

        Seongwoo pulled himself up to a sitting position and untangled himself from Minhyun, ignoring the soft noise of discomfort the other made. He pulled the blanket up so it covered his spot and tucked it around Minhyun before slowly getting out of the bed.

        A knock came at the door, insistent, and Seongwoo wondered if that was what had woken him up. He glanced down at himself—he’d thought to clean himself before he fell asleep, but he was still undressed. He wrinkled his nose and pulled on an old bathrobe, tying it so that it only exposed the tops of his collarbones and nothing more.

        Then he padded out to the living room, to open the door. There was a stagnancy in the air that would’ve bothered him if he was more awake, but he didn’t notice it then. The knock came one more time, and Seongwoo tilted his neck from side to side before unlocking the door.

↣

        Minhyun opened his eyes to a voice.

        A soft voice with venom wrapped around it—that was all he heard before he threw himself from the bed. It was too familiar, the anger and the strife. But he wasn’t in hell, and the sound of it was disorienting. Thoughts ran through his mind, justifications and theories appearing and disappearing in the next second.

        He blew out a breath, and pressed a hand to his heart; he hadn’t realized how quickly it was beating until then. Then he pulled himself to his feet, dressed himself loosely, and walked to the door of the bedroom, keeping his steps quiet as he went.

        “Is he here?” Daniel asked, and the mere sound of his voice made Minhyun’s stomach turn. When he closed his eyes, he saw ash in the sky and a scythe poised above his neck.

        “Is who here?” Seongwoo asked, and his voice was so cold, for a moment Minhyun didn’t recognize him.

        Daniel laughed, and it wasn’t a beautiful sound. “Really? Okay, we’ll do this your way. Is Minhyun here?”

        Seongwoo didn’t say anything to that, simply stared at Daniel with a cool neutrality. Minhyun bit his lip and took a step backwards, towards the window. Seongwoo was playing a dangerous game, blatantly disrespecting Daniel. And in the end, it would finish like the last time.

        It was better to leave now, before they were both hurt.

        But the silence stretched out, Seongwoo silent and uncaring, Daniel’s lips twitching. He put a hand on the other angel’s shoulder, and it curled over his muscles, clenching down hard. Seongwoo’s fingers flinched at his side, but he showed no other reaction.

        At another cold silence, he flicked his wrist, shook him once, and when he spoke, his words were callous at best. “This is your job—our job. Keeping humans safe, keeping _him_ under control. Do I need to report this?”

        Seongwoo simply pulled his gaze from the ground, looked up at Daniel and said nothing more. Whatever the other saw in his eyes must’ve unnerved him, because he loosened his grip momentarily, voice honey sweet when he next spoke. “Seongwoo, he can’t be trusted. I don’t know what he’s promised you, but he’s lying. That’s _his_ job; hurting those around him.”

        Minhyun took another step backwards, towards the window. Anger and spite made his movements sloppy, and he gritted his teeth to keep himself calm. It was what he expected, what he knew they thought of him. And he knew, just as well, that Seongwoo didn’t think that of him.

        But he couldn’t risk it, not after last time.

        A sound stopped him in his tracks—a shout, and a crash. He moved back to the door, slid it open slightly so that he could see what had happened.

        Seongwoo was on the floor, knees shunted to the side awkwardly. His bathrobe had slipped, exposing the edge of his shoulder and a darkening bruise on the edge of his collarbone. Daniel was towering over him, hand inches from his neck. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened, and the realization turned the entire scene to red. Minhyun bit down on his tongue so hard he tasted blood, pressed his fingers against his thigh and let them dig in.

        Daniel leaned down again, shook Seongwoo’s shoulder roughly again. “Do you want to fall with him? Do you want that?”

        Seongwoo simply looked up quietly, adjusting his bathrobe so that it covered his exposed skin. There was something dark in his eyes, unreadable from Minhyun’s vantage point in the bedroom. But it was unfamiliar, choked and vengeful like he had never been.

        The other angel opened his mouth, but when he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. It hung in the air, cracked at the edges. “I can’t lose you too.”

        Seongwoo didn’t answer at first, retying his bathrobe before pulling himself to his feet. There was a quiet dignity in his movements, a smoothness that clashed with Daniel’s bright anger. His voice was hoarse, yet firm. “You never lost him.”

        Daniel moved so quickly Minhyun didn’t realize he had until Seongwoo’s back was against the wall, and a resounding crash had filled the air. His hands were fisted in the soft linen of Seongwoo’s bathrobe, and the smaller man was pulled up by the motion, his feet dangling slightly above the floor. For the first time, there was a hint of fear, a hint of pain, on Seongwoo’s face.

        “Don’t you ever—” Daniel grinded out. He barely got out half the sentence before his grip faltered and Seongwoo fell to the floor.

        Minhyun flipped Daniel around so that his back was against the wall, an almost identical position to the one Seongwoo had been in. Daniel’s eyes widened at Minhyun’s gaze—he’d lost control somewhere along the way, and the whites had disappeared, pupils blown out. He hadn’t meant to go this far, truly. It was easier to talk with angels when he kept a semblance of humanity. But he’d long since given up any hope of talking with Daniel.

        Minhyun’s hand was splayed against Daniel’s throat, darkening fingers holding him to the cracking plaster. Where his skin touched Daniel’s, it blackened, and there was an almost inaudible sound of sizzling. The other angel threw his head back in pain, a howl escaping his lips.

        But it hadn’t only hurt him—Daniel’s skin was as painful to him as he was to the other, and Minhyun’s fingers reddened at the contact, blistering in places. He simply gritted his teeth and forced himself to speak, a harsh, grating sound that rung in the early morning air.

        “You’re all the same,” he bit out, nails digging into the soft, darkening skin. “Angels, humans, demons—you’re all built from the same incorrigible cloth. That’s why this madness will never end.”

        Daniel laughed, a sharp gasping sound. “And what do you know of that, Satan?”

        Minhyun’s lips pulled back in a smile so tight it was almost a snarl, white teeth shining bright in the near darkness. “I know everything of human error. _That’s_ my job.”

The other angel opened his mouth to say something more, but it gave way to a cry of pain and Minhyun pressed harder for half a second before pulling away. Daniel knocked back against the wall, nearly falling to the base before throwing his hands behind him and finding his balance. There was near silence for a moment, nothing but the quiet of night and the rasping sound of Daniel catching his breath. Then he pulled himself to his feet, avoiding Minhyun’s gaze before throwing a barbed glare at Seongwoo.

        He slammed the door behind him, a resounding crash that sent another flinch through Seongwoo. He looked small like that, curled against the wall with his bathrobe twisted around him. But his expression was pensive, his eyes all steel and silver. He looked up at Minhyun then, flicked a dismissive hand even though his gaze was unfocused. “You should go too. They’ll be back soon.”

        Minhyun didn’t say anything to that, pressing his burnt hand to the wall to ground himself. He gave a small hiss at the pain before cradling it to his body and kneeling down beside Seongwoo. When he spoke, his voice was smooth, but it still held a note of fear. “They’re going to kill you.”

        The words wavered in the air between them, and Seongwoo glanced up at him, stubbornness and an eerie detachment sharpening his features. “They won’t.”

        Minhyun gave a shuddering breath, and bit his lip to calm himself. But it didn’t help, and the words came too quickly, rushed and tied around each other. “You know they will, just come with me, please—”

        “They won’t,” Seongwoo interrupted stolidly. There was an unwavering confidence in his words, a confidence without happiness. It mingled with just the slightest hint of dread, and if Minhyun wasn’t so afraid for him, he would’ve been afraid of him. “I won’t let them.”

        Minhyun folded himself so that they sat side by side, knees up in the air and pressed against the other’s. That simple heat was enough in that moment; the fact that they were real, and beside each other—the fact that _this_ was real.

        After a few minutes, Minhyun snaked his other hand around, twined it with Seongwoo’s. “I… I don’t want to lose you again.”

        Seongwoo didn’t answer at first, gaze fixed on the opposite wall. When he spoke, there was no measurable emotion in his words—only careful neutrality and the faintest hint of gentleness. “You won’t.”

        He said nothing past that, and Minhyun reluctantly loosened his hand from his, sliding against the wall to get to his feet. He didn’t look down, didn’t look back—he didn’t think he could keep going if he saw what he was leaving behind.

        By the time he shut the door behind him, the sadness in his heart had faded to a consuming numbness. He blew out a breath and leaned back against it.

        On the other side, he heard a quiet sigh.

↣

        When the knock came, Seongwoo was waiting for it. It’d been minutes, hours maybe—after Minhyun had left, everything had blurred together. He’d stayed there, back against the wall and gaze fixed on the window on the opposite wall, on the darkness outside giving way to light.

        There was something akin to lethargy running through his body, all his fear and adrenaline fading into numbness and an overwhelming desire to wash it away somehow. When he closed his eyes, he saw black eyes and a hand wrapped around his. But his hand had long since gone cold, and when the knock came again, Seongwoo tightened his bathrobe around him and pulled himself to his feet.

        It was a distasteful business, what he’d have to go through now. It wasn’t exactly that it was impossible, more that it was long and arduous and the thought of it annoyed him. But in the end, he’d be alive and Minhyun would be safe, and that was enough for now. Maybe not forever, but they still had forever in front of them, and Seongwoo wasn’t letting this go this time.

        It was the quiet ones you had to watch out for, he’d found. It was true among mortals, but twice as much with immortals, twice as dangerous, too. Pity he didn’t care as much as Daniel or Minhyun. Maybe he could’ve been something, in another universe. Then again, hell had never looked alluring.

        He let the knock fall again, harder this time, and padded back into his bedroom to pull on a t-shirt and pants. He stopped by the sink and splashed some water on himself. When he returned to the living room, the door had been knocked down, and a messenger angel, a young one, was standing in his doorway, panting. He glanced up at Seongwoo when he returned, vague anger turning to confusion and a hint of fear.

        Seongwoo raised his eyebrows before moving to the kitchen for a glass of water. He leaned against the side of the nook, tilting the water at him before speaking. “Is there something I should know about?”

        The messenger blinked. “Is he here?”

        He narrowed his eyes. “What?”

        “Minhyun—Hwang Minhyun, the devil,” the angel blurted, and the small knife in his hand shook. Seongwoo didn’t blame him. “Is he here?”

        “Nope,” he replied, popping the p. “Nobody else’s been in this apartment for weeks. Comments about my sex life are not appreciated.”

        The other angel blanched. “Yeah, um. Wasn’t going to. But…”

        Seongwoo took another sip of water and nodded in almost derisive encouragement. “But?”

        “It…” the messenger hesitated briefly, nostrils flaring. “It smells like demons.”

        “Mm,” he said, finishing off his water before putting it down on the coffee table with just the slightest bit of force. “I went out hunting tonight. Got a bit bored.” Seongwoo reached his arms above his head and stretched, and when he dropped them back at his sides, he looked at the other angel, eyes sharp. “To be honest, though, wasn’t really that satisfying. This city’s a bit tame. So forgive me, if I’m a bit on edge.”

        “Oh,” the angel said, and Seongwoo suppressed a smile. He’d known this was the easy part, but this was almost fun.

        “Why are you here anyway?” he asked, hooking a leg over the side of the couch. He might as well get this out of the way.

        “D-Daniel, he said that there was something wrong here, said that _he_ was here, but…” the messenger trailed off into thoughtful silence again.

        “Really?” Seongwoo returned quietly. “Did he?”

        A silence, and then a nod.

        Seongwoo crooked his fingers at the other angel, and he took a tentative step forward. “Hey, kid. Tell me—do you really trust anything out of his mouth?”

        The messenger hesitated again before nodding slowly, and Seongwoo let out a soft laugh. “Pro tip: don’t.” He flicked a hand at the other angel before settling back down into the couch. “You should get back—it’s getting early. I’ve wasted enough of your time.”

        After another glance, half suspicious and half afraid, the messenger angel left, shutting the door softly behind him. It was already almost off his hinges, and the action was more a formality than anything, an apology at best. When he noticed it, Seongwoo couldn’t help but let out a bark of laugh, before sinking back onto the couch.

        He sat there for a few minutes, in that skeleton of an apartment, ghosts of desires and wishes and regrets hanging heavy in the air. But this was just the beginning—Daniel wouldn’t stop here. He didn’t expect him to. He wondered, absentmindedly, how he’d known. Whether it had been Jisung at the shrine, or Sungwoon’s eyes on the ground. Or maybe he’d just known, a tug of his gut and nothing more.

        But there was no point wondering about how it had happened, really. He exhaled slowly; let the breath tangled inside him for months come out, let the pin drop. There was nothing else to wait for—nothing else to hope for. There was only this—something that could’ve been a tragedy, and the pieces left for him to clean up.

        Seongwoo tilted his head back, let the base of his head brush against the old fabric of the couch, and closed his eyes. He recalled what Minhyun had said, millennia ago. Standing in that dark hallway, secrets held between them, desires  in their burning eyes—he’d asked why he was loitering in the shadows, asked if he was a spy.

        Back then, he hadn’t really known why he hid himself in the darkness like that. It was more a hobby than anything. Perhaps it was for the brief feeling of power—he knew the city well, that was true. But he knew those in the city better; he knew each angel’s secrets and past sins, all their locked up skeletons and dirty desires. It was a side effect of his job, really. The desire to know everything—to control everything. He’d wondered once, if the reason that he didn’t search for the power that Minhyun yearned for was because he already had it.

        He couldn’t help a smile, when he thought about it. It was nothing more than a curve of his lips and a flash of teeth, but it was enough.

↢

        Seongwoo stayed in his room after that.

        The war went on—Daniel hadn’t come home in days, and Sungwoon only came home at night. After a while, Jisung stopped checking up on him; after a few days more, he went out himself.

        The dorms were quiet now. But quiet wasn’t the right word—it wasn’t a held breath and silence strung with tension. It was emptiness, absence of anything at all. It was closest to a ghost town, if anything. There was a stagnancy that seemed to hang in the air. It clashed with the noise outside, the anger and desperation and strife.

        Seongwoo always kept the windows closed, curtains pulled tight. He didn’t think he could deal with it otherwise, didn’t think he could keep his mind safe. But after a couple weeks, it began to grate down on him.

        Fortunately, he didn’t have much longer to wait.

        The news came at dawn. Jisung had come home with Sungwoon the night before, ichor spattered over their clothing. They were unusually quiet, but Seongwoo hadn’t pried—there was a foreign blankness in their eyes, a stuttering stillness in their motions. They’d had a quiet dinner and left for their separate rooms. Somehow, he knew they wouldn’t be able to sleep either.

        It was the sort of morning he’d long since accustomed himself to—the faraway sound of shouting and fighting, whistling noises in the air and cut off screams. The sun was up, and yet it was a searing kind of light, more harsh than it was bright.

        Breakfast was more a formality than anything, sitting at the table and staring at each other, staring past each other. Jisung cleared his throat to say something, but before he could speak, the door swung open.

        Daniel pulled a chair up to the table and took a seat. There was something akin to a grin on his mouth, a sharp curve of his lips that showed his canines.

        “You’re in a good mood,” Sungwoon put in, taking a sip of his water.

        “I got him,” Daniel said, and the words sent a shiver down Seongwoo’s back.

        His grip on his water loosened and it clattered to the table loudly. The other angels looked at him curiously, and he smiled, tapping two fingers to his head. “Just a bit tired.”

        Daniel blinked at him, putting a hand on his wrist in sympathy before continuing. “It took me a while, I’ll admit. He’s a slippery bastard. But once you get past his tricks and corner him, it’s not too hard to take him down.”

        Jisung snorted. “Maybe now. The war must’ve taken a toll on him too. He’s not easy.”

        Daniel frowned at that but said nothing. He reached out, took a sip of Sungwoon’s water. “You should’ve seen it, though. The way he looked at me when I got my hands on him. I thought he’d kill me, the way he was lashing out.”

        Seongwoo swallowed hard, bile rising in the back of his throat. He couldn’t do this—he couldn’t listen to this. His fingers tapped out a syncopated beat on the side of his thigh, like it could distract him, like it could make Daniel’s words a lie and make Minhyun safe. But pretending was just that—a farce. And when Daniel spoke again, Seongwoo closed his eyes for a second longer than usual and waited for his heart to slow.

        “I’ve hunted evil spirits and lost mortals, but…” Daniel whistled. “That was something else.”

 _That,_ like he wasn’t even a person, like he was nothing but his actions and the target on his back. Seongwoo tightened his grip on his thigh and tilted his head down so that his gaze was fixed solely on his water. There was a bit of silence then, almost awkward but not quite. Jisung was troubled, eyes flickering over Daniel and occasionally to Seongwoo. Sungwoon was exhausted, numb to the point of disregard, and when he looked at Seongwoo, he seemed to look through him. Daniel was happy, but it wasn’t an innocent glee. It was darker, hard edged and dangerous.

        “Seongwoo?” he called out, and Seongwoo took another sip of water, just so he had something to do.

        “What?” he asked, voice scratchy from disuse.

        “I have a job for you,” Daniel said, a note of amusement in it, and Seongwoo had never hated those words more than in that moment. Because without an explanation, without pictures and a description, without explicit instructions, he already knew.

        When Seongwoo closed his eyes then, he saw a bright sun above him. A harsh, glaring star, an angel with a scythe in his hands, and a fallen angel hunched on his knees with his neck exposed.

        It was ironic, really. He’d guessed it all down to the very last detail, and come up with one error, one single error. He’d thought the worst thing that could happen would be standing in the crowd as the scythe went down, as the wings were cut and the body cast down. He’d never once considered holding it himself.

        “It’s happening tomorrow, at dawn,” Daniel added.

        That was where this differed—every other job he’d taken was a request, a path that he had the choice to walk on.

        But this—this was an order.

↣

        The months passed—they didn’t see each other.

        Seongwoo had turned in the project, since Minhyun had stopped showing up to class. They’d finished it up before he’d left anyway. There was a pinch of regret, a lingering sense of sadness that always filled him when he thought about his absence. But he knew it wasn’t just a need to detach—they’d set a ball rolling, a hundred pebbles knocking off a cliff from one boulder. He was simply cleaning up his side of the mess.

        Seongwoo had started his work too. It was a bit longer than Minhyun’s, he suspected. He needed to set up appointments, compile information, get in touch with people he hadn’t seen in centuries. All it took was a few incriminating photos of higher ups, letters that were supposed to be burnt, scandals and secrets spilled out from shut mouths. But when that was expanded to include dozens of people, it took longer than usual. It was a messy web, that was true, but the strands still connected in the end. And when they did, all he had to do was _pull._

        After classes had ended, there wasn’t really much else for him to do. His apartment had never stopped feeling empty, and if he stayed there too long, the smell of blood and iron was too much for him to bear. So he took to spending time abroad; every job seemed to drag out longer than the last one, and even in his reprieve, he wasn’t at ease. It was a strange sort of buzz, living life by the skin of his teeth and washing it all away at night.

        The jobs got worse, to be fair. Trickier, more difficult to force himself through—it was a test, in essence. A test of his loyalty, a test of his allegiance. It would’ve bothered Seongwoo, if he’d believed in it. But in the end, they were just bargaining chips, ways for him to reset the balance one step at a time.

        He didn’t allow himself much free time now. Occasionally, though, the others carved their spot out. It was charming, how they thought they had an influence on him.

        “Hey,” Daniel called one night, back against the brick of an alley adjacent to the building he’d just left. He was dressed casually, which was rare for him, in a simple shirt and jeans. His smile was fluid, and Seongwoo tapped his fingers against his thigh to release the anxiety that built in his throat when he saw his face.

        Seongwoo and Daniel hadn’t really ever dealt with what had happened in the winter. They’d worked on opposite sides for a while—Seongwoo working to prove his innocence, and Daniel with all the evidence to the contrary. But eventually, the other angel had given up. It was hard to preach in a room of atheists; it was harder to expose a man with half of heaven in his pocket.

        But they’d never settled. They both knew the truth, and it hung between them heavily, all ash and anger.

        Seongwoo blinked at him. He was still dressed for work, in one of his better suits, and he brushed one hand against the wall, unwilling to get it too dirty. “Yeah?”

        “Come up,” Daniel said, offering a small, sharp grin. “The others want to see you.”

        “Mm,” he replied noncommittally, already thinking of his next client. “Maybe another time.”

        Daniel pouted. “You haven’t been up in so long. Sungwoon said he’s forgetting how your face looks.”

        That was a lie—he’d once spent fifteen years on earth, and Sungwoon had still recognized him a street away. And the other part was a lie too; he’d been up the day before, admittedly not anywhere near the seraph dorms.

        But he just tilted his head, shook it lightly. “Sorry, I’m really out of it. I need to keep this form in shape, and I’ve been working it hard lately. I’ll be up soon.”

        Then he pulled his hand from the wall, tucked it in his pants and walked past Daniel. The other angel bumped against him slightly, drawing a soft inhale from him as he slowed to a stop. Seongwoo glanced back over his shoulder, and he was looking at him peculiarly, looking through him as if he wasn’t really there, back in a cold Seoul apartment with two black fingers to his neck.

        “You’ll slip again, you know,” he finally said, voice dropped low, and there was a coldness to it.

        “What?” Seongwoo asked, brushing his fingers against the inside of his other wrist in case he had to jump.

        Daniel simply shook his head, smile turning bitter. “I don’t know how you did it, but you covered it all up. Good for you. Go ahead—spit on God, fuck him like you must’ve before he fell. But you’ll slip up, eventually. And I’ll be waiting.”

        Seongwoo’s jaw went slack, lips parted for a few seconds. Triumph sparked in the other angel’s eyes for a split second, before Seongwoo dropped his fingers from his wrist. He took a step forward, and observed the chaos of emotions in the other’s eyes for a moment before slapping him across the face.

        Seongwoo left his hand on the flat of his cheek, pinched it tight before letting go. Daniel watched him with measured anger, and a hint of fear. It was the first time he’d showed that towards him—he wasn’t sure whether to be afraid or celebratory. Seongwoo took a step back, hooked his fingers into his pockets and glanced back up at him with veiled anger and a flippancy. “Go ahead—try to send me down, try to kill him, I dare you. But,” and he paused then, pulled himself close to Daniel and fingered the scar at his throat where Minhyun had torn him. “You’ll slip up, eventually. And I’ll take you apart.”

        A tremor ran through Daniel’s body, nothing more than than a single jerk of his muscles, before Seongwoo pulled away and offered a last, parting grin. He threw up his hand in farewell before walking towards the spot he was set to jump at. “Send Sungwoon and Jisung my regards! I’ll be up soon enough.”

        He didn’t stick around to wait for Daniel’s answer.

↢

_Tomorrow, at dawn._

        The words echoed in Seongwoo’s brain, for minutes, hours. Like if he whispered them to himself one more time, it wouldn’t be real. _This_ wouldn’t be real—Minhyun would be beside him, laughing, hand splayed across his chest. He would be alive, he would be safe, and he would be happy.

        But when Seongwoo laid there on his empty bed, stared at the ceiling and let his eyes fall closed, all he saw was the ghost of a smile on Daniel’s face and an order spilling from his mouth.

        The knock came at his door an hour before dawn. It fell once, before a brief pause, and then it came again. Seongwoo didn’t get up, hands frozen into fists at his sides and eyes barely open. There was a faint sigh, and then the door opened. The figure stood in the doorway for a moment more, silent, and then took a seat beside him, pulling the bed to the left.

        “Seongwoo,” Sungwoon said, and it was meant to be a warning, but it was anything but. It was an apology, a plea, a name held down with far too much sympathy, far too much pity, far too much _regret._ When Seongwoo didn’t answer, Sungwoon reached out, took one of his fists in his hand and slowly unclenched the fingers. He spoke quietly, eyes facing down. “The—The ceremony’s in an hour. You have to get dressed, because…”

        They knew why. Because he’d hold the scythe up; because he’d bring it down. Not for the dozens of angels that had fallen out of line—that was Daniel’s job, and he’d taken it with pride. Seongwoo’s work was at the end of the ceremony, after the speech about order in heaven, when the ichor was spattered against the walls and the smell of hell hung heavy in the air.

        “Just… get up. Please.”

        Seongwoo let his eyes flutter closed again. There was darkness, for a brief moment, and then he opened his eyes to the dimness of his bedroom again, to the reality he’d been thrust into. There was no way to twist his way around this, no strings he could pull to subtly drop from the ceremony.

        It was ironic, that mortals said angels were all powerful. If that was true, if he’d held any power at all, he would’ve been able to stop this.

        It was a bitter, reproachful thought, one that held little logic. But he clung to it, a tether in the mercurial place that heaven had become after the war. If it would help him get through this, he would cling to it.

        Sungwoon opened his mouth to speak, but Seongwoo pulled himself off the bed, leaving the soft inhale to turn to a choked sound of surprise. He spoke without looking at the other angel, facing the gray sky and the streaks of gold and blue that colored it. “I’ll be there.”

        There was silence then, and then Sungwoon left the room, the door held slightly open still.

        He came late. The ceremony had started, was nearly finished. Daniel had worked his way through most of the offenders, picking off the high level angels now. Seven angels to his left knelt the angel that would be sent down before Minhyun. Even still, Seongwoo’s lungs emptied at the sight—the idea of Minhyun kneeling there, the knowledge that he was sitting below waiting patiently.

        There was an inherent cruelty in sending angels down. The practice had been created millennia ago, yet they were rarely sent, and the ones that fell rarely survived. To send down an angel was to destroy their immortal form and create another from the ashes. The second form was often weak at first, unused to holding such energy, and sometimes burnt out in minutes. If an angel survived that, then the next obstacle was taking care of their form—Seongwoo was one of a select few that had roamed earth, and most knew nothing of the care that mortal forms required. But immortals couldn’t thrive in mortal forms for long, not because the form couldn’t sustain them, but because their desire for more persisted, consuming them. Seongwoo had worked to balance his conflicting sides, his mortal forms and his mind, and yet he still pushed himself too far at times. But fallen angels had fallen because of their ego, because of their hunger for something that heaven couldn’t grant them—and so they pushed their forms, day after day, yearning for invincibility, immortality, or a ghost of it.

        He'd heard, once, that fallen angels could become immortal. If they pushed their forms enough, if they withstood it. But they had all died too soon for it to be known.

             There was another shout, another groan from the crowd, and another sickening crunch of bone. Seongwoo glanced up—the sun was rising, pale light casting the scene in a sickly gold.

        On the risen platform, Daniel was half bent, scythe poised over the ashes and dripping gold ichor. He looked up, then, and caught Seongwoo’s eyes. Seongwoo’s throat went dry. That was the last angel—the last one before him.

        Daniel crooked his finger—even from the other side of the crowd, the other angel a hazy figure in the distance, Seongwoo could make out the smile curving his lips.

        But he had no interest in playing to Daniel’s schedule, and so he stood still. He closed his eyes, let the chaos of the scene sink into his skin, let the ghost of the sun above him press into his back. He closed his eyes, and saw two golden eyes before him—it was the last time he would see them, possibly. Before the scythe.

 _This,_ he thought, _is my job._

        Seongwoo opened his eyes and walked through the crowd, let the people part around him as if he held power in his clenched hands. He walked to the platform, pulled himself up, and looked at Daniel. The other angel raised his eyebrows at him, and said something that he couldn’t make out. The words were muffled, as if he was underwater. But he simply nodded, and took the scythe from his hand.

        Daniel gave him a thumbs up and brushed past him, leaving him standing over ashes that were being swept away, and an ichor stained platform. There was a small commotion behind him, a shuffle of skin against cloth against wood, and then the clatter of chains. Seongwoo didn’t turn around—he didn’t need to, and he didn’t think he could bear it. So he simply stood still, facing the crowd of empty faces with a scythe hanging by his side.

        The guard moved past him, crashing into his shoulder heavily, and he gritted his teeth to stay still. He was dragging a body by his side, a conscious angel with a burlap sack over his head. His wings were exposed, bright white and glittering in the early morning light, and he still struggled, kicking out his legs and pulling his nails against the wood. The guard dropped him in front of Seongwoo’s feet, knees up in the air and head knocked flat against the platform. He looked up at him, said something that Seongwoo couldn’t hear with his ears full of cotton and regret. He smiled, and nodded, and the guard left.

        Seongwoo could feel the eyes on him—the angels, the archangels standing at the back. God was there too, he knew. To say he was always watching was a stretch, but today, he was here, and his gaze fell heavily on his back.

        So Seongwoo knelt down beside the supine body, and tugged the sack over the other angel’s head.

        Golden eyes flashed in anger, before calming. Something that could’ve been a smile, in another universe, twitched at his lips.

        “So,” Minhyun said. “It’s you.”

        Seongwoo said nothing, pulling the sack off and folding it beside his body. It was an unnecessary formality, but he had nothing to do but drag this on as long as he could.

        “I’m happy, you know,” he continued, voice pitched lower now. His gaze moved from Seongwoo to the sky above them, to the sun that seemed to grow brighter with every second. “If it has to happen, I’m happy it’s you.”

        Seongwoo stilled in his work for a moment, fingers shaking above the wood. Beside him, the scythe felt too heavy to hold, too heavy to wield. But Minhyun reached out a hand, surreptitiously tapped it against Seongwoo's foot, and his eyes flicked to him, for the first time since that night on the hill.

        Minhyun smiled, and said something.

        For years, centuries, millennia after, his only wish would be to hear those words properly. As it was, all he heard was the faint rumble of a voice, and nothing more.

_This was how you killed an angel._

        Seongwoo pulled his fingers from his feet and straightened himself up. Without speaking, without any further instruction, Minhyun turned around, curling himself so that he was knelt. He was shaking, his arms hung loosely, trembling so hard his fists knocked against the wood. But he said nothing, simply stilled as Seongwoo reached out and pulled his shirt off, cloth against skin and the clang of his blade against his side as he moved.

_First, find a scythe washed in holy water._

        Seongwoo placed the shirt by his hands, averting his eyes so he didn’t have to see his face again. He’d come to regret that—faces faded quickly, and his memory had never been good.

_Second, hold it high in the light of a rising sun._

        Seongwoo wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the scythe and tugged it from the sheath, struggling to hold it above his head. It wasn’t the weight, but the tremors wracking his body, the sweat threatening to pour down his neck and the way his heart beat against the cage of his chest as if that could stop it all.

_Third, bring it down—cut off the wings cleanly, and watch as they fall to nothing._

        Seongwoo closed his eyes when he brought it down, so that he didn’t have to see the way Minhyun’s body shook from the pain, didn’t have to see the agony twist his face grotesquely. But he could still hear it, faintly—the wail of sheer loss, and the odd sound of wings becoming dust.

_Four, ignore the ichor. It won’t be there for long._

        Seongwoo let the scythe fall to his side, panting heavily. To inflict pain on another angel meant pain for oneself, and he was definitely feeling the toll. It was a worrying nausea, a dizziness that spoke of coming unconsciousness. But then he remembered words tossed across a stage of death, pressed together like a confession.  

_I’m glad it’s you._

        In the end, he was glad it was him too.

_Five, raise it above the neck—make sure it’s exposed._

        He gritted his teeth again, fingers wrapped around the scythe so tight he felt like he might lose circulation. He pulled it up, and he was shaking too hard now, the arc of the scythe trembling in his shadow. He thought to look down, but didn’t. He looked up, at the sun. He thought of golden eyes, and let his body go slack. He let his form relax, let the arc of the scythe still into something sharp.

        It wasn’t enough, to be the one behind it. All they’d had—it wasn’t enough. But it was all he had, and all he could give. So when he moved, he kept his eyes on the sun.

_Six, let it fall; let the body burn._

↣

        It was late spring, now, and the snow had become cool breezes and the faintest hint of humidity in the air. The air held the smell of blossoms and a sharp, sweet edge. Everything seemed tinted with rose and gold—it felt like hope.

        Seongwoo had finished his work a month ago. It’d been tiring, working through practically every angel in heaven, but he’d finally managed it. Soon after, he let up on the jobs, let his form take a rest. They weren’t needed anymore, anyway—he’d already proven his loyalty, already earned their trust. He’d stolen their support; he’d made an indomitable wall out of their darkest secrets. Simply put, it was blackmail, but it sounded prettier the other way.

        He’d spent the next couple of a weeks recuperating, laying in bed for days at a time, half conscious and blinking at a television playing the same old reruns of failing dramas. It was boring, but there was something soothing about the mundanity —like despite all his sins, all the blood on his hands, he could have this normalcy, even for a little bit.

        Seongwoo knew Minhyun had finished his work too—he’d heard it, connected the details through sources and inferences. But he hadn’t seen him since that night in December. He’d seemed to disappear off the face of the earth, which, frankly, was completely possible. But he knew he hadn’t, knew he was still active. Just, apparently, not active with him.

        It would’ve hurt his feelings, if he was that kind of angel. But it just drew out a kind of curiosity, a sharp type of anticipation. Minhyun rarely things did without a purpose, and he doubted this was an exception.

        Then again, he could’ve just moved on.

        But that was a bit too much for Seongwoo to bear, and so he simply forgot it all, focused on the smell of budding blossoms and the sensation of pretending to be human.

        He’d decided not to enroll in a class for the summer—he was thinking of traveling a bit, or maybe just staying in Seoul and smelling the roses. It was hard to say, as an angel, but he was getting tired of chasing after glory.

        When it happened, he was leaving his apartment for the first time in weeks. It wasn’t that he was a recluse, but he hadn’t really had a reason to leave, and his bed was just far too comfortable at times. But spring was beginning to move into summer, and he was craving ice cream. It was true that he could simply jump to the ice cream parlor and back—he’d recharged enough to withstand the jumps. But there was something more attractive about walking there.

        The weather was supposed to be fairly good, too. So he slipped on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans and strolled out of his apartment complex, praying that one of his neighbors didn’t notice and ask how he hadn’t died. In truth, one of them had knocked on his door a couple days after he first crashed. He’d almost not heard them—the thought that he could’ve easily been found out made him cringe in embarrassment even now.

        The sky was blue, cloudless. He didn’t expect it—he didn’t think anyone did. But that didn’t change the fact that a couple blocks from home, a drizzle began to fall on his shoulders.

        It was overkill to call it rain, when it was nothing more than a light warm shower. The sensation was almost calming, really. He hadn’t felt rain in a while—after that night, months ago, he always went out with an umbrella, with _his_ umbrella. For some reason, when Seongwoo had tried to give it back, he’d let him keep it.

        But, in his sugar craving induced daze, he’d made a rookie mistake, and when he closed his eyes and let out a soft curse, he could see the umbrella leaned against the kitchen wall. It was fine—he’d be fine. A bit wet, but maybe if he hunched himself over he could protect the ice cream.

        A small voice told him that getting ice cream in this weather, warm or not, was a terrible idea. He told the voice to fuck off.

        Seongwoo leaned against the base of the traffic light, pressing his thumb against the push to walk button and letting his eyes flutter closed for a second. It was disorienting, letting the visuals fall away and having the soft patter of the rain and the chatter of the crowd grow louder. Then he heard the crowd rush forward, felt bodies move around him, and he opened his eyes.

        He looked out at the crowd, and loitered beside the button and waited for the people to disperse. He didn’t feel like pushing his way through, today, even when the water soaked through his shirt uncomfortably.

        After the path emptied out, he dropped his hand from the pole and started across. He cringed at the rain dripping off his face, but kept his gaze on the other side. Then, there was a shadow, and nothing more.

        This time, he didn’t drop it.

        There was a soft sound of heavy breathing at his side, which faded to a soft exhale. Seongwoo didn’t dare look at him, at first. But a hand snaked out, took his and wrapped it around the base of an umbrella, before dropping it. Seongwoo caught the handle, kept it steady, then hazarded a glance over at the other man.

        He was still as beautiful as ever, but his face had filled out a bit over the four months they’d been apart. There was a brightness in his face that hadn’t been there before, eyes glittering with something more than malice. It was curious, but Seongwoo couldn’t bring himself to question it—he was too awed by the face itself. But when he spoke, it was gruff, and he couldn’t keep the barest hint of a blush from raising to his cheeks.

        “You’re late,” he said.

        There was a short laugh, choked off and bubbling, and then: “I wait _all_ this time for the first rain of spring, and _this_ is what I get?”

        Seongwoo blinked and glanced over at him. “You mean you—did you really refuse to see me again until the first rain?”

        “What can I say?” Minhyun offered, lips twisting in a grin. “I’m a romantic.”

        Seongwoo only blinked at him a bit more, before noticing the cars behind him, and the honking filling the air. He tugged his hand into his and ran to the other side of the street. They stood in silence for a moment, before he looked back up at him. Minhyun’s gaze was faraway, but his eyes flicked back to Seongwoo. “You’re an idiot.”

        Minhyun pressed a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

        Seongwoo scowled at him. “How long’s it been then?”

        The fallen angel rolled his neck, stretching a bit. Rain fell from the awning above them into the sidewalk, a steady pattering, but it was beginning to slow. “A couple months, maybe two? It wasn’t that long, demons are easy to toy with. You?”

        He didn’t answer for a moment, watching the rain stutter into syncopated drops. Once it’d stopped, he took a step forward, and glanced back at Minhyun. “A couple weeks ago, maybe. A mess that big was a pain to clean up.”

        “Mm, sorry,” Minhyun replied, but his voice was playful, anything but apologetic. He leaned forward, let his chin fall on Seongwoo’s shoulder and tilted it against his neck. Seongwoo scoffed, thought to push him away but decided that, for now, it was fine. There was a moment of silence, and then—

        “How’d you do it?” Minhyun asked, pulling away from him, and it was equal parts awe and genuine curiosity, all glossed over with a casual humor.

        Seongwoo tossed him a grin, barbed on the edges. “Desire. Everyone wants something, right? At the very least, they want safety. Take that away, pull out a thread from their life and let it all tumble down—they’re exposed. They’re afraid. They’ll do anything to get it all back. So who do they go to?”

        “The one who pulled it all apart?” Minhyun guessed, then let out a low whistle when Seongwoo let out a small laugh and a nod. “You should’ve fallen with me. Maybe I wouldn’t have even lost.”

        But he just shook his head, twining his fingers through Minhyun’s and swinging their arms once, with a finality. “It’s better like this, I think. You have your throne, I have my control. Besides, there’d be too much imbalance.”

        “That’s quite an ego you have there,” he returned, rubbing the flat of his thumb against the back of Seongwoo’s hand.

        “I think it’s warranted,” he said without turning his head, letting his gaze roam over the city. The rain had disappeared, though the air hung heavy with it still.

        “Why are you out, anyway?” Minhyun asked. “Woojin told me you haven’t left your apartment in four weeks straight.”

        Seongwoo blinked at him. “Were you spying on me?”

        He wrinkled his nose. “I was keeping an eye on you. And you didn’t answer my question.”

        Suddenly, he remembered the ice cream, and his throat went dry. His cheeks pinked when he spoke—there was something so mundane about it, so human, and it almost embarrassed him. “I haven’t had ice cream in a while.”

        Minhyun’s lips twitched in the beginnings of a laugh, but he didn’t, just pressed his mouth into a line and tilted his head back. When he spoke, there was something teasing about his voice, light and airy. Seongwoo could hear spring in that voice. “Now that I think about it, neither have I.”

        “Really?” Seongwoo replied weakly, bringing up his hand to rub the back of his neck.

        Minhyun’s lips twisted, sharp and mischievous, and uneasiness bubbled in his stomach. He held out a hand, face up to Seongwoo, and his voice was almost satirically formal. “Ong Seongwoo, will you go out on a date to the ice cream parlor with me?”

        Seongwoo just snorted, face going red against his will, and hit his shoulder. “Stop acting like we’re teenagers.”

        His face fell, and even though he knew that it was all a farce, Seongwoo couldn’t help but feel a hint of regret. “Are you rejecting me?”

        “Minhyun—”

        He sniffed away fake tears, put a hand up to shield his dry face. “I need a moment.”

_“Minhyun—”_

        “I need to _cope_ with this, Seongwoo,” he retorted, still sniffing loudly. “It’s not every day that this face gets rejected, you know—”

        Seongwoo’s hand snaked forward, took the limp one hanging by Minhyun’s side in his and twined their fingers before pulling him in the direction of the ice cream shop. Behind him he heard a yelp of confusion, and then a laugh, loud and chaotic and beautiful, and despite it all, it drew a laugh out of him too.

        “So is that a yes?” Minhyun called, voice bright and youthful and everything Seongwoo had thought he’d lost.

        “It’s a maybe,” he returned, squeezing his hand in his, and Minhyun laughed again.

        They walked in comfortable silence, and the strange normalcy of it all was so disorienting that Seongwoo almost forgot the way to the shop. But it would’ve been okay, he thought. To search it up and use some shitty navigation app, to wander around the city lost until they found some other place to eat at—it would’ve been okay. They had eternity in front of them, if they wanted it. 

        “Seongwoo,” Minhyun said, voice quiet, and almost inaudible. He looked over at the sound of it, but the other’s gaze was unfocused. “Is this—can we really do this?”

        Seongwoo opened his mouth to respond, to reassure him, but nothing came out. They came to a stop, stood there for a bit. Minhyun’s eyes were on the city beyond him, but when he spoke, his gaze flicked back to him. Seongwoo reached out, took his hands in his. They were the same hands they’d been millennia ago, yet irrevocably different. Finally, he looked up at him, at that perfect face and the scars that carved it from the inside out. “Isn’t that up to us?”

        Minhyun didn’t say anything for a while, lips parted just barely. He hesitated before he spoke, a breath catching in his throat. “But—if it happens again? If Daniel… or someone else… what would we do?”

        Seongwoo dropped his hands from his, letting his lips curve in a smile before turning forward. “Live like a human, Minhyun.”

        The fallen angel laughed, and where it had once been bitter, it was bright, if a little disbelieving. “I’ve lost interest in death.”

        He shook his head, tilting his head. “Not death—mortality. Say we fuck up again—say they come after us. There’s nothing we can do about that now, nothing short of stopping this and forgetting about each other altogether.” Seongwoo paused then, waited for Minhyun to slow beside him, and reached behind, took his face in his hands. Minhyun blinked at the sudden touch, ears burning red and cheeks pinking. When Seongwoo spoke, his voice was low, without a hint of levity in it. “Do you want this to end?”

        Before Minhyun could reply, he continued. “Because we could. I could let you go right now, and this would be over, simple as that. We’d never have to speak again, just like how it’s been before now, and it would be so—”

        Minhyun leaned forward, and Seongwoo’s hands fell from his face as he kissed Seongwoo once, little more than a peck, and pulled back. His cheeks had gone completely red, eyes fixed on the pavement below them, but when he spoke, he glanced back up. His voice was quiet, but held a hint of fire, a flame that Seongwoo hadn’t felt this close to in millennia. “I don’t want this to end.”

        Seongwoo’d meant to keep his face blank, he really had. A neutral mask, maybe a cool grin and nothing more. But the corners of his mouth quirked up at that, a shy smile flickering on his lips. “Me too.”

        A feeling akin to relief sparked in Minhyun’s eyes, relief and something warmer. “Okay.”

        And it was just one word, one kiss, one day in rain that had long passed—but it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading!! i really hope u liked it
> 
> a couple things i wanted to clarify (just in case)  
> minhyun is the devil / satan / lucifer and so when he’s the leader of a “group” he means hell.. also his touch isn’t always destructive/corrosive, he has a choice in it  
> seongwoo has a certain kind of teleportation (which minhyun can mimic w black magic, along w other angelic powers) and his jobs consist of delivery of items, information, or messages (which can get violent)
> 
> once again thank u so much for taking the time to read this n leave a kudos/comment if u want!!
> 
> u can find me on twt @ [hwanguIt](https://twitter.com/hwanguIt) and on curiouscat at [chuuist](https://curiouscat.me/chuuist)


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